


Gentlemen Of The Road

by Suzie_Shooter



Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Adventure, Alternate Universe, Anal Sex, Escape, Explicit Sexual Content, First Time, Highwaymen, Kissing, M/M, Masturbation, Mutual Masturbation, Oral Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-24
Updated: 2015-05-27
Packaged: 2018-04-01 02:04:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 60,260
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4001746
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Suzie_Shooter/pseuds/Suzie_Shooter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Highwaymen AU. Down on his luck, Porthos acquires a new job in the most unexpected of circumstances, but his employer has a method of making a living that will lead them down a road to both triumph and disaster. Can they overcome the odds to escape with their lives, and in the end will the most unexpected prize of all be love?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [evilmaniclaugh](https://archiveofourown.org/users/evilmaniclaugh/gifts).



> Celine is from Musketeers Don't Die Easily, glassed by Constance and promptly forgotten about. I always wanted her to get a better ending.

It was a dark and stormy night. Porthos had at first felt this added a certain dramatic flair to proceedings, but after a couple of hours standing in a muddy wood being dripped on by alarmingly creaking trees, he was starting to lose enthusiasm for the idea.

He pulled his thin cloak tighter round his neck, trying to staunch the ingress of water, and shivered. He had to go through with it. This was a last ditch effort to save himself from being thrown out onto the streets. Since he'd lost his job, the pittance of an income he'd relied upon had dried up entirely, and he was all but destitute. The miserable existence of a beggar was all that beckoned in his future, and he'd pawned the last of his possessions for money for food. 

The last thing remaining had been his father's pistol. He'd briefly entertained the idea of putting it to his own head, but then an indignant rage had taken hold of him at the unfairness of his situation, and he'd determined to decide his fortune another way. 

There were those who had plenty of money, who wouldn't starve from the loss of a necklace, or a pocket watch. Thus, he would become a highwayman, and what society had not seen fit to let him earn honestly, he would simply take. Porthos realised there was a good chance he would end up shot or hanged, but at the very least it was a fighting chance, and he'd always been a gambler.

Fine plans and bravado were all very well, but hours standing in the dark and rain without so much as a lone rider to accost had taken their toll, and Porthos was on the verge of giving up when he heard the sound of an approaching carriage. He edged closer to the road, concealing himself behind a tree and pulling his scarf up to cover his face, finally grateful for the darkness and lack of moon. 

At the last minute he stepped out, unshading his lantern and holding it high in one hand, pistol in the other.

"Whoa there! Stand and deliver!" he bellowed.

The effect on the coach driver was impressive, if not entirely all Porthos had hoped for. Having instinctively wrestled the pair of horses to a stop to avoid trampling the madman who'd appeared in front of him, faced with the barrel of a gun the unfortunate driver leapt from the box and dashed off between the trees.

Porthos stared after him in perturbed conflict. If the man got away, he would raise the alarm. On the other hand, Porthos only had one shot, and besides he disliked the idea of shooting a man in the back. He sighed, and let him go. It was a couple of miles back to town, and Porthos would be long gone before he could return with the law. If he dared return at all, having abandoned his employer with such alacrity.

Porthos turned his attention back to the carriage and frowned, hoping it wasn't empty. But a light showed within, and he cautiously approached. 

"Stand and deliver!" he demanded again, rapping on the side of the coach with the butt of his pistol.

A curtain in the window twitched then drew back, and a man peered out at him with an expression that was distinctly more annoyed than frightened. 

"Do you mind if I don't stand? There's not a lot of room in here," he drawled, and Porthos glared at him.

"Your money or your life!" he declared, levelling the pistol at the face in the window, and feeling slightly discomfited that the man took not the slightest bit of notice of it.

"Oh, I'm not carrying any money, I'm afraid," he replied calmly.

Porthos' arm was getting tired, and he was getting cross. "Jewellery then!"

"Do I look like the sort of man to be decked out in trinkets like a cheap whore?" 

"Your watch then! You must at least have a pocket watch, sir."

"I might have. Whether I feel like giving it to you is another matter." The man tapped a finger against his lips thoughtfully. "I feel like we haven't been introduced properly. I am the Comte de la Fère, my name is Athos. And you are?"

"P- " Porthos just caught himself against the reflex to reply and glared. Athos looked distinctly amused.

"Oh well, it was worth a try. Let's have a look at you instead." He reached out and twitched Porthos' scarf away from his face, in a darting movement that took Porthos by surprise.

"Hmmn. I don't believe I've had the pleasure," Athos murmured, studying Porthos' face. "First time?" he asked, sounding sympathetic and also like he was trying not to laugh.

"Shut up!" Porthos snapped, trying to regain control of the situation. "You shouldn't have done that." Panicking now that the man had seen his face, could identify him. How had this got so far out of hand so quickly? "Give me your valuables, or I'll shoot you in the head."

"Oh, I don't think you'll do that," Athos mused. "Or you'd have done it by now. And besides, I've had a pistol on you this whole time."

"You're bluffing."

"Take a look." Athos lifted something half into view, and Porthos couldn't prevent the instinctive urge to lean in the window. 

He had a brief moment of horror to realise that Athos was telling the truth and had a pistol pointed at his nuts, before Athos slammed Porthos' head down against the window frame and all he saw was stars.

\--

When he came round Porthos was sitting in the muddy road, propped up against one of the carriage wheels, and Athos was standing over him with a speculative look on his face. Athos was also holding Porthos' gun, and his heart sank.

"Go on then. What are you waiting for?" Porthos asked sulkily, wiping a thread of blood from his lip.

"What do you mean?" 

"You're going to shoot me aren't you? Just get it over with."

Athos frowned. "Why would I do that? It's not like you actually managed to rob me, after all." He looked up and down the deserted road exasperatedly. "Do you happen to know what's happened to my coachman?"

"He ran off." Porthos staggered to his feet, holding onto the carriage. "I think I scared him." 

"Well at least tonight wasn't a complete bust for you." Athos suddenly tossed him back his pistol and Porthos caught it clumsily, astonished. 

"What...?"

"Oh, I took the liberty of removing the shot. Where's your horse?"

"If I could afford a horse, do you think I'd be holding people up?"

"Hmmn." Athos looked him up and down. "Are you any good? With horses, I mean. Obviously your highway robbery skills leave a little to be desired."

"Yeah, I've worked a stables before." Porthos shook his head. "Why?"

"I seem to have a sudden vacancy."

"I'm sure he'll be back?"

Athos raised an eyebrow. "He deserted me in my hour of need. Abandoned me to the mercies of a terrifying highwayman. As far as I'm concerned, he's fired."

"Are you taking the piss?"

Athos half-smiled. "Sorry. It's a bad habit. But I'm serious about the job. If you want it?"

Porthos stared at him in bemusement. "You - want me - to work for you?" he said slowly.

"That's the general idea, yes. I can see you're a man quick on the uptake." Athos was quieting the skittish horses, rubbing their noses and murmuring to them in a much softer tone that he was using on Porthos. "Unless you're having too much fun as you are, in which case feel free to decline."

Porthos hesitated. Accepting unexpected propositions from strange noblemen you met in a forest in the middle of a storm was the sort of thing that could get you into all kinds of trouble, if the ballads were to be believed. On the other hand, he was no swooning maiden, and he had nothing to leave behind apart from a stack of unpaid gambling debts and two months' overdue rent. What was the worst that could befall him?

"Very well. I accept."

"Splendid." Athos clapped him on the shoulder and climbed back inside the coach. "In that case, maybe you'd see about driving us home? Just carry on up this road another couple of miles, take the left fork at the crossroads, then next left again towards the hills. Can't miss it, only house on the road." He slammed the door shut, leaving Porthos to scramble up to the coachman's seat and take up the reins in some trepidation. He'd never actually driven a carriage before, but figured it couldn't be that hard. Fortunately the horses responded immediately to his experimental shake of the reins, and the carriage heaved itself out of the muddy ruts and on down the road.

What with the rain and the darkness, Porthos nearly missed the first turning altogether, it being more of a vague track than anything he'd have dignified with the name of crossroads. The horses however once more came to his rescue, sensing they were nearing home and taking the fork without direction from him.

Giving them their head, Porthos found to his satisfaction that they picked out the second turning too, and was heartily relieved given that he'd never have identified the overgrown track they were now traversing as someone's driveway. Brambles and young trees leaned in from the hedgerows brushing the carriage on both sides, and the route itself curled this way and that until Porthos had no idea which way they were headed. 

After some time the looming vegetation abruptly fell back and Porthos found they were driving over a short bridge and into a paved courtyard. Given the condition of the approach he'd wondered what kind of dilapidated shack he would be confronted with, but what Athos had carelessly described as a house appeared to be more of a castle. Grey stone stretched up to an actual tower and between the outbuildings he glimpsed the dark gleam of water, wondering in surprise if the place had a moat.

Climbing down, Porthos discovered that rather than standing on ceremony Athos had already alighted.

"The stable's over there," he told Porthos, waving a hand at a stone-built range with a lamp burning. Looking around, there were surprisingly few windows showing a light, and Porthos realised that however big the house, the size of the Comte's household was unlikely to match it. 

Porthos assumed he would be abandoned to deal with things alone but to his surprise Athos stayed out in the rain, helping him unhitch the carriage and lead the horses into the warmth of the stable.

"Can I ask - what exactly is my job to cover?" Porthos ventured, as they tended to the two horses in adjacent stalls. Athos looked briefly over at him.

"Coachman. Groom. General groundskeeper. Messenger. Man-at-arms. Will that do for starters?"

"General dogsbody then?" Porthos translated with a smile. He didn't mind the prospect, in fact was quite looking forward to it. The stable block itself was more sturdily built and warmer than the lodgings he'd resided in for the last six months.

"We shall see where your aptitudes lie," Athos said rather vaguely. "There is always room for advancement. If you have a taste for indoor work, there is that too."

"I've never been in service," Porthos admitted cautiously. To his relief, Athos shrugged.

"No matter. I rarely stand on ceremony. As long as you do as I ask, I care little for the manner in which you do it." He smiled slightly. "I should tell you, l have one other member of staff, a girl who acts as my cook, parlourmaid and housekeeper."

"And you're going to tell me she's off limits?" Porthos guessed. Athos' smile widened. 

"I'm sure Celine is entirely capable of making that clear herself." He headed for the door and then looked back. "A word of advice, if she looks like throwing something at you, it will almost certainly be too late to duck."

\--

Porthos followed Athos into the main house, through a heavy oak door and up a gloomy stone-flagged passage. He was relieved when Athos lifted the latch on another door and a warm shaft of light spilled out from within. It proved to be a cosy kitchen, with a log fire burning in the grate. A girl was sprawled in a chair warming stockinged feet on the hearth, a cat asleep on her lap.

She looked up at Athos' entrance, then rose hurriedly to her feet upon realising he wasn't alone. The cat, disturbed, promptly jumped back into the chair and curled up again with its tail firmly over its nose.

"Who's this?" The girl - Celine, Porthos presumed - sounded suspicious and unwelcoming, but Athos didn't seem angered by her tone, merely walked across to pour himself a glass of wine. The fact the bottle was already open and a second glass with dregs in it resided by Celine's chair suggested she'd been liberally helping herself, but Athos didn't seem to object to that either. Porthos wondered if there was more to their relationship than merely master-servant. He studied her, openly curious. A jagged red scar stood out across one cheek, but aside from that she was pretty enough, if currently borderline hostile. 

"This is - " Athos paused and looked at Porthos. "You never did tell me your name?" 

"Porthos. Porthos du Vallon."

"This is Porthos." Athos waved a hand airily in his direction. "He'll be replacing Fabien."

Celine frowned. "What happened to Fabien?"

"A sudden pressing need to be elsewhere," Athos said cryptically. "Perhaps you would be kind enough to look out some clean bed linen for Porthos. And box up Fabien's things. If he doesn't claim them in a week, send them to the poorhouse."

"Is he to be giving me orders then?" Celine demanded, looking Porthos up and down with an unfriendly eye. 

Athos winced. "I shall leave you to sort the pecking order out between you, don't involve me in it. I'm going to bed, it's been a long night." With that, he disappeared hurriedly out of the door again, leaving Porthos at Celine's mercy.

Porthos raised his hands in a gesture of peace. "As far as I'm concerned, you were here first," he said. "I'll make no trouble for you, I promise."

Mollified, Celine poured herself another glass of wine, and even went so far as to pour one for Porthos too.

"So what did happen to Fabien?" she asked.

"Someone held up the Comte's carriage. He - ran away."

"Someone." Celine looked amused. "You?"

"Yeah." Porthos took a sip of his wine to cover his embarrassment. "Is it me, or is it a bit odd, to hire someone who's just tried to rob you?" he blurted.

"Odd, yes. But also very Athos," Celine said with a slight smile.

"You're very - familiar with him," Porthos ventured, not wanting to seem rude, but trying to fathom the dynamics between them.

Celine snorted. "Try calling him sir or your lordship and see how far it gets you. He doesn't like it. I think servants make him uncomfortable, to be honest. He'd probably shut himself up here like a recluse if he could only cook." She frowned. "Are you hungry?"

"Yeah. If there's anything going?" Porthos said hopefully. He couldn't remember the last time he'd had a proper meal, or felt full. "I don't want to be a bother."

"There's some stew if you want it. I kept it warm in case Athos wanted any when he came back." Celine ladled out a bowlful and set it on the table, fetching some him bread.

"Thank you."

"Don't get used to it. I'm not here to wait on the likes of you."

"Point taken." Porthos started to eat. It was good, and he tried not to bolt it too fast, conscious of Celine's eyes on him.

"Was Fabien a friend of yours?" he asked after a while, when the silence had stretched long enough to become uncomfortable. Wondering if he was treading on any toes here.

"Not really." Across the table Celine leaned back in her chair, watching him. "He'd not been here long. A few months maybe. Athos needed a replacement for Serge, but I don't think he ever really fitted in."

"What happened to Serge?"

"He died. Rather - suddenly." She dropped her eyes, staring into her glass instead. "He'd been with Athos since forever, I think. And Athos blamed himself."

"Why? What happened?" Life as Athos' manservant seemed to be fraught with dangers from what Porthos could see, and he was starting to wonder if he'd made the right decision coming here.

"You ask a lot of questions for someone who's not been here five minutes," she snapped.

"Just taking an interest. What happened to your face?"

Celine flinched, raising a hand to her cheek, and Porthos was immediately sorry. He'd wanted to push back against her combative attitude, but making her self-conscious was hardly a fair way to do it.

She looked at him unhappily. "A society that cares a lot more for the well-to-do than the likes of us, that's what happened," she said softly. "Why, what happened to yours?"

In an unconscious mirroring of Celine's gesture, Porthos raised his hand to the scar that ran across his eye. He'd been in his late teens, and penniless. A man had caught him trying to cut away his purse, and slashed at Porthos with his cane. He'd been lucky not to lose his eye. It was a time in his life he wasn't proud of and Porthos experienced a new appreciation for Celine's own reluctance to explain.

"Same I guess," he said. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to pry."

Celine nodded slowly. "If you're done, I'll show you your room. If you don't like it there's plenty of others, but we tend to only keep a few open, it's easier to heat them." 

She lead him out into the passage and up a flight of creaking stairs. The bedroom he was shown into had a fire burning low in the grate, and a scatter of another man's possessions on the chest of drawers and mantle. 

"I'll find a box for this stuff. And bring you some sheets." Celine disappeared again, leaving Porthos to look around in wonder. He'd assumed he'd be in servants' quarters or even in the outbuildings, but this was clearly part of the house's main accommodation. The room was bigger than any he'd ever stayed in, and the bed was huge.

Celine reappeared with an armful of linen, and he took it from her quickly. "Thank you. Do I, er, need to be up at a certain time tomorrow?"

"Not if Athos hasn't given you any instructions to. He never rises particularly early, especially if he's been - out - the night before." Celine paused in the doorway, looking back at him thoughtfully as if she was going to add something, but in the end just shook her head and walked out. 

\--

Waking the next morning, it took Porthos a second or two to work out where he was. When it came back to him he laughed softly in disbelief, stretching out luxuriously in the bed. Clean sheets, and a room of his own. It was like heaven. 

There was bound to be a catch somewhere, but Porthos was philosophical. They were hardly likely to murder him in his sleep for the simple fact he had no money, and anything else could be dealt with as the need arose.

Sunlight was filtering through a gap in the curtains and Porthos wondered how late he'd slept. He reluctantly crawled out from under the covers and pulled back the drapes. Outside, it was a fine spring day and he found his room looked down into the courtyard at the front. Catching sight of the stables Porthos remembered he was supposed to be in charge of the horses, and dressed hurriedly. It was all very well saying he'd been given no orders, but it wouldn't do to look lazy on his first day.

He found his way downstairs and into the kitchen. There was no sign of Celine, but the fire was blazing merrily and a big iron kettle was steaming on its hook. A door stood open to the outside, and from somewhere came the warm cluck of chickens.

Porthos stepped outside and found himself in a walled courtyard. To his right, the tower he'd noticed the night before loomed up. In daylight he saw it looked older than the rest of the house, made from bigger stones, from a more fortified age. 

There was a line of washing flapping in one corner, suggesting Celine at least had already been up some time. There was also a chicken coop, and, in one corner a privy, which Porthos made grateful use of. There was certain to be a bathroom somewhere inside, but he hadn't been told he could use it, and in any case didn't want to go opening doors at random.

Slowly getting his bearings, he walked back into the kitchen and through the house, unbolting the front door and emerging into the front carriage yard.

In the stable the horses seemed pleased to see him, or at least their breakfast, and he spent a while combing them and talking to them, enjoying the peace. When he was done he prowled the yard, looking into the other buildings - barn and storehouses mostly - before going back into the house.

Celine was now in residence in the kitchen, and sniffed at him when he appeared. 

"Still here then? There's some wood needs chopping in that case."

Porthos debated whether to make a stand - Athos after all, hadn't suggested that Celine should give him orders any more than he her - but it would probably pay to be amenable in the long run. And he found he wanted to stay, more than anything.

Consequently he set about the pile of logs Celine indicated with a will, and stacked the firewood neatly with the rest. He ventured back into the kitchen and washed at the vast sink. The smell of fresh coffee was filling the room, and his stomach rumbled. 

"Smells good."

Celine eyed him. "You'll have to help yourself, I've got me hands full." She was floured to the elbows, slapping bread dough around with a vigour that made Porthos wince. Still, he'd been prepared to be told it wasn't for the likes of him at all, or to be simply presented with another list of chores, so he was happy enough to do as she suggested.

Porthos had barely lifted the cup to his lips when Celine broke in on his thoughts.

"Athos wants to see you."

"Oh. Right." Porthos put the coffee down again with a sigh, wondering how long ago this message had been delivered. 

"Take it with you." Celine nodded at his cup. "Athos won't mind. He's up the tower."

Porthos followed her directions, finding his way to a winding stair that seemed to go up for miles. He was vaguely nervous that Celine was setting him up, and that Athos would be angry that he was both late and drinking his coffee, but when he emerged panting at the top of the stair all other thoughts went from his mind.

At the top of the tower a circular viewing room had been constructed, with glassed windows all the way round. You could see a long way over the countryside, and Porthos saw that the house was indeed surrounded by a moat - more of a small lake. There was a telescope on a stand, a padded bench seat, and a small table bearing a silver coffee pot on a tray.

Athos was standing there in shirtsleeves and waistcoat, china cup in his hand. 

"Porthos. Good morning." Athos nodded to him, and Porthos smiled back, nerves receding a little. "You're still here. I'm glad. And hard at work already, I see."

Porthos realised with a jolt that if Athos had been up here the whole time he'd have seen him nosing about in the outbuildings and idling in the sunshine as well as mucking out the horses and chopping firewood.

"Yes sir." 

Athos winced. "Athos, please. I can't abide bowing and scraping."

Porthos nodded dutifully. "Celine said as much. I wasn't entirely sure she wasn't winding me up." It slipped out, but Athos gave a short laugh.

"And how are you two getting along?"

"Alright I suppose." Porthos nodded. "We've - established the pecking order, yeah."

"Let me guess. She pecks?"

"And I duck," Porthos finished, laughing.

Athos nodded. "She's friendly enough underneath. But you'll need to earn it."

"Is it just the two of you here?" Porthos asked, looking out over the fields. "Must be hard to keep up a place like this."

Athos shrugged. "I have a small number of tenant farmers who provide a modest rent. And I have found other ways of - supplementing my income." He glanced at Porthos shrewdly. "You wish to stay? You think the work agreeable? And the situation - not too strange?"

"I'd very much like to stay," Porthos agreed quickly. "I reckon I can turn my hand to most things. I'm entirely at your command."

Athos hid a smile. "I'm glad to hear it. You'll find me fairly undemanding. And you may treat the house as your own." He turned away from the window to look Porthos in the eye. "The one thing I do require of you is your loyalty. I am a very private man, and I should not like to hear my domestic situation become the subject of talk in the town."

"My lips are sealed," Porthos promised with a vigorous nod, wondering again if Athos was sleeping with Celine.

"Good. Then we have an accord." Athos held out his hand and Porthos shook it enthusiastically.

Athos made to pour himself some more coffee but the pot was empty and he sighed.

"Should I ask Celine to fetch you some more?" Porthos asked, keen to seem helpful.

Athos though, looked amused at the suggestion. "She refuses to bring me anything up here."

"Doesn't like the height?" Porthos guessed. It was quite dizzying, having everything spread out below you like this.

"Doesn't like the steps." Athos smirked. "She says if I insist on eating in an attic I can damn well serve myself."

Porthos blinked, taken aback not only by Celine's insolence but Athos' apparently good-natured acceptance of it. 

"You and Celine..." he ventured.

Athos looked at him sharply. "There is no 'me and Celine'. Let me make that quite clear. She is in my employ, and that is an end of it."

Porthos nodded, abashed. "Sorry."

Athos relaxed a little, nodding acceptance of Porthos' apology. "I won't have her be the subject of speculation," he said softly. 

"How did you find her?" Porthos asked, curious. 

"She tried to pick my pocket."

Porthos burst out laughing and Athos raised an eyebrow. "It's that funny?"

"No, it's just - do you hire all your staff based on who's tried to rob you?"

At that, Athos too broke into a smile. "Not consciously. But now that you mention it, perhaps that's where I went wrong with Fabien. He was, after all, entirely unsuited to the job. You though..." Athos looked him over speculatively. "You, I think will do admirably."

\--

Over the next couple of weeks Porthos gradually became accustomed to life at the house. Celine remained mostly brusque but not unfriendly, and he sensed her sharp manner stemmed more from a wariness of him. 

During the daytime he saw little of Athos, but in the evening all three would convene in the kitchen to eat together and afterwards occasionally Athos would remain with them, sitting around the fire and drinking. More than once on these evenings Celine got so tipsy she ended up quietly sliding out of her chair into a heap on the floor. Whenever this happened Athos would gather her up and carry her to bed without comment, always returning immediately. 

Porthos found him hard to fathom. A perfect gentleman, but one willing to eat and associate with his servants. A titled nobleman, but one who shunned the company of others of his kind. An apparently rich man but with few visible sources of income. Porthos found he liked him, but after two weeks knew barely more about him than the day he'd arrived. Athos hadn't been joking when he said he was a private man. 

Still, there were things you could tell about a man without needing his life story. Athos was obviously kind to his horses, and Porthos noticed that the evenings Athos remained in the kitchen were often those where Mimi the tabby cat had curled up on his lap. He was tolerant of Celine's scolding and drinking, and freely admitted to Porthos that he would leave half of all important tasks undone if it weren't for her less than subtle reminders. And he was generous. Upon discovering that Porthos possessed only the clothes he stood up in, Athos had advanced him a month's wages - and a sum that far exceeded anything Porthos had hoped for.

One night in late April as they arose from the supper table, instead of taking his accustomed chair by the hearth or retiring to the study, Athos pulled on his coat. 

"Are you going out?" Taken by surprise, Porthos hastily got to his feet. "Will you be needing the carriage?"

"No, not tonight, thank you. But if you could ready my horse, I'd be obliged."

Porthos hurried out ahead of him, and was leading the big black horse Athos favoured out of the stable when Athos reappeared from the house, carrying a bag over one shoulder.

"Did you want me to come with you?" Porthos offered, flustered by this unexpected night-time foray.

Athos shook his head. "No, thank you." There was a slight smile on his face, and Porthos felt uneasily like he was being laughed at. "Next time, perhaps," Athos added, almost to himself, as Porthos helped him mount. He looked down at him. "You don't need to wait up. I'll stable him myself when I return, I don't know what time it'll be."

Porthos watched him ride out of the courtyard, wondering where he was going. Athos had offered no explanation, and it was a dark and blustery night to be riding anywhere. He shivered, and was glad to regain the warmth of the kitchen.

"Do _you_ know where he's off to?" Porthos asked Celine.

She glanced up and gave him a blank look. "Not our place to ask, is it."

Rebuked, Porthos sat down with a sigh of irritation. He got the distinct impression Celine knew more than she was saying, and the fact that neither of them had seen fit to trust him rather hurt. Consequently he took himself off to bed early, and thanks to a day spent in the fresh air mending a fence in the horses' paddock, was quickly asleep.

The sound of hooves woke him in the small hours, and curiosity spurred him to roll out of bed and go to the window. In the yard below, Athos was dismounting, having apparently only just returned. He was alone, and did nothing more remarkable than stable his horse, douse the lamps and walk in the front door. Porthos heard bolts being thrown down below, and the creak of the stairs as Athos came up to bed. 

He resisted the temptation to stick his head out and ask if Athos needed anything, suspecting that Athos would be more annoyed than pleased, and guess that he was simply being nosy. Porthos climbed back into bed instead, listening to the faint click of Athos' door down the passage and wondering what he'd been up to until sleep finally reclaimed him.

\--

To Porthos' slight frustration, the subject of Athos' nocturnal expedition was never raised again in his hearing by either Athos or Celine, and he didn't feel he could ask without being seen as prying. The whole matter would have remained an unsolved mystery, were it not for the fact that a week or so later, Athos did exactly the same thing. 

Once more, he departed unexpectedly after supper and returned in the hours before dawn, offering no explanation and sleeping late the following day.

In a mild sulk at the feeling he was being excluded from some secret or other, Porthos took himself off to clean out the stables. He was giving them a thorough going over, scrubbing floors and bringing in fresh straw, when something caught his eye, glinting between two of the flagstones.

Getting down on his hands and knees, Porthos teased it out from the crack and held it up to the light, expecting it to be a cufflink. To his surprise it was a lady's earring, studded with diamonds and a beautiful emerald.

"Now where did you come from?" he mused. It certainly wasn't Celine's, she owned a few items of jewellery but nothing this fine. The obvious explanation was that Athos had a mistress, and this was where he was going at night - perhaps even a married woman, which would explain the secrecy. But somehow it didn't feel right. It didn't feel like Athos, for one thing. He didn't strike Porthos as the kind of man who would risk a lady's honour with a secret liaison. And he certainly didn't give the impression of being a man in love.

Porthos decided there was only one way to find out, and washing off the muck of the stables went to find him.

Athos was in his study, and as Porthos stepped in the doorway, it was obvious he was searching for something. He was squatting by the desk, frowning and running his fingertips over the rug.

"Looking for something?" 

Athos jumped and nearly banged his head on the edge of the desk. He straightened up, looking more thrown than Porthos had ever seen him.

"No? Well, yes. But it doesn't matter."

"Can I help you look?" Porthos offered, studying the guilty flush spreading across Athos' cheeks with interest.

"No, really. It's not important. Did you want me?"

"Weren't looking for this were you?" Porthos held up the earring, and Athos froze. 

"Where did you get that?" he demanded, his voice quiet but icy and Porthos was belatedly struck by the horrible realisation Athos might think he'd taken it.

"I found it in the stables just now," he said hastily. "On the floor."

Athos visibly relaxed. "Careless of me," he muttered, and Porthos gave a mental sigh of relief that Athos had believed him so readily. 

Porthos smiled. "You know, you once told me you weren't a man to be decked out in whore's trinkets. Although to be fair, it does match your eyes."

Athos stared at him incredulously for a second, then gave a huff of surprised laughter.

"Well." He seemed at a loss for words, and Porthos came over and laid the earring in his palm. 

"Do you have the other?"

Athos hesitated. "Yes." He looked at Porthos for a long moment, seemingly weighing something up. "They might be a gift?" he said experimentally. "I might have a sweetheart stashed away somewhere."

Porthos held his gaze. "Do you?"

Athos sighed. "No." He took a key out of a drawer and tapped it thoughtfully against his lips. "Porthos. What I'm going to show you - you have to promise not to breathe a word of it. I'm not exaggerating when I say my life will be in your hands."

"I'm your man, Athos," Porthos said seriously, wondering whatever could be so dramatic. "You know that. You can trust me."

"Yes. I do. I hope I'm not wrong." Athos paused for a second then made up his mind, walking over to a door at the back of the room. He unlocked it, and stepped inside with a jerk of his head to indicate Porthos should join him.

Curious, Porthos followed close on his heels. He'd always assumed this was merely a cupboard, the one time he'd tried the door it had been locked. Now though, he saw it was a small room with its own window overlooking the moat. The room had little furniture, but the walls were lined with shelves holding boxes of various sizes, and several chests rested on the floor. 

Athos took down a small velvet case and opened it, revealing the twin to the earring Porthos had found. 

"What is all this?" Porthos asked in a low voice.

"See for yourself." Athos leaned back against the windowsill while Porthos explored, watching his eyes widen at each new case he opened.

Inside each box was a sparkling piece of jewellery, or a polished pocket watch, or in the case of one small chest, a spill of gold coins. The mental penny didn't drop though, until Porthos opened one long case to reveal a spectacular gold necklace set with rubies.

"This belonged to the Duchess of Aisne. There was a description of it circulated last year." He looked up at Athos, who merely raised his eyebrows but said nothing. Porthos frowned. "There was a reward offered. It was stolen. Her carriage was held up, by - " he stopped. "By a highwayman."

"So I heard," said Athos softly. "The publicity makes it difficult to get rid of, sadly. I could always break up the setting for the stones, but it seems a shame, don't you think? It's rather beautiful."

"You. That was _you_?" Porthos stared at him, stunned. "That's where you go at night," he accused. "You're - you're _robbing_ people?"

"Rather more successfully than you," Athos said dryly. He sighed. "Do you condemn me then?"

Porthos gaped at him. "Well. Can hardly do that, can I? No. I mean - you've never hurt anyone, right?" Thinking back to all the reports of such local robberies that he'd laughed over in taverns, that had given him the idea in the first place. As far as he could remember, none had been violent.

"Killing off your supply chain makes bad business sense," said Athos, with a ghost of a smile. "Fine ladies can always acquire new necklaces if they're allowed to escape unharmed. And the law takes less of an interest, as long as you're not actually murdering people."

Porthos swallowed, suddenly conscious of the fact Athos was between him and the door. "Why are you showing me all of this?" Abruptly worrying that Athos was intending to do away with him to ensure he could never speak of it.

Athos looked thoughtful. "Are you wanted?"

"Eh?"

"By the law. Have you done anything to make anyone come looking for you?"

"Oh. No." Porthos gave a sheepish laugh. "You were my first."

Athos' smile was back. "Was I indeed." He straightened up, and nodded to himself. "You ask why I'm showing you this. I suppose what I'm saying is - it's easier with two?"

Porthos stared at him. "You want me to - help you?"

"Assuming it's agreeable to you." Athos shrugged. "You don't have to, if you'd rather not. But I did rather get the impression it was a career path you'd been considering."

"I - yes." Porthos was still trying to get his head around the idea of Athos being a thief, although it did explain a lot. "I mean - yes, I'll do it." 

"Good." Athos smiled, a brief flash of genuine pleasure before he looked solemn again. "You'll need to do as I say? No impulsive embellishments we haven't discussed beforehand. Quickest way for things to go wrong."

Porthos nodded immediately. "I don't mind that. I'm yours to instruct. When do we start?" he asked eagerly. Athos looked amused.

"Not for a while. It's best not to push your luck, and I was out last night. In a week or so, maybe."

\--

Athos made him wait a week and a half, and they were some of the longest days of Porthos' life. When Athos finally took him aside and murmured that they would be riding out that night, he spent the day with what felt like a mess of snakes writhing in his guts.

Excitement and nerves meant he could barely eat, although Athos seemed as unmoved as ever. After supper, Athos lead him into the study, where he produced something from a drawer that he offered to Porthos.

"A mask?" It was a black domino mask to cover the eyes and nose, protective leather with a soft lining.

"Well you don't want to be recognised, do you?" Athos murmured. "Scarves are all very well, but before you left exposed your most distinctive mark." He lifted a hand and traced the edge of his little finger lightly down the line of Porthos' scar. Porthos shivered, and wasn't sure why.

"If you'll allow me?" Athos held up the mask, and Porthos nodded, letting Athos lift it into place and fasten it behind his head. They both looked into the mirror hanging on the study wall, and Athos smiled. "Yes, I think that will do." He patted Porthos on the shoulder. "Nervous?"

"No." Porthos fidgeted. "Yes."

"Good. It'll keep you on your toes. Are you armed?"

Porthos produced his pistol. "I'm out of shot though."

Athos took it, cracking it open and wincing. "My God. When was this last fired?"

"Couldn't rightly say."

Athos shook his head despairingly. "If you'd tried to shoot me with this you'd have most likely taken your own hand off." He unlocked the rear chamber and slipped inside, reappearing with a pistol that was in much better condition. 

"Here, take this. It's loaded, and less likely to kill you." He offered it to Porthos, but kept hold of it for a moment as Porthos tried to take it. "For threatening purposes, and defence of your own life only, alright?"

"Understood." Porthos nodded, secretly relieved that he wouldn't be expected to actually shoot anyone.

"You're sure you want to go through with this?" Athos said quietly. "I won't mind, if you want to back out. I need to know you're a hundred percent committed if you're going to have my back."

Porthos looked up, and slowly grinned at him. "All my life, I've been on the bottom of the pile," he said. "Tonight's where I start taking something back from the bastards on top."

\--

On horseback, Porthos followed Athos for some distance across the fields and through the woods bordering the estate. Athos had headed cross-country, along an apparently familiar route that was nevertheless a mystery to Porthos, and as they threaded through the trees he was glad he didn't have to find his own way. He could see the sense of it, that Athos wouldn't want to be seen emerging from his own drive, but by the time Athos reined in and waited for him to draw level, Porthos was completely disoriented. 

"That's the road over there," Athos told him in a low voice. It meets the main route to the capital about a mile further up. "There should be something worth our time along shortly."

"How do you know?" whispered Porthos. It had been one of the more discouraging elements of his own attempt, waiting around for hours in the cold without a sniff of action.

"Just because I don't attend the society gatherings, doesn't mean I don't receive the invitations," Athos said, and despite the scarf now disguising his mouth, there was definitely amusement in his voice. "In some circles, I am apparently still considered an eligible catch."

Porthos snorted, and hastily turned it into a cough. Somehow he couldn't see a young society bride being terribly impressed by the prospect of a life at the isolated house, lady of the manor or not.

Both masked and hooded, dressed in blacks and greys, they were almost invisible between the trees. There was a thin moon, and Porthos could see the rutted tracks of the road not far distant. Restless, he shifted in the saddle, only to subside guiltily at a look from Athos. 

They'd discussed their approach, back at the house, in the days in between. When they held up the coach, Athos would handle the people inside, and Porthos would be responsible for covering the coachman and any footmen. Even though for this first prize at least it would mean guard duty only, he was still taut with anticipation and it took all his willpower to remain quiet and still.

Perhaps fifteen minutes passed, then the noise of a carriage and horses came to them through the trees.

"This is it," Athos murmured, and spurred his horse on down into the road. Porthos followed closely, and they faced the oncoming carriage side by side. Porthos had to admit that it was a lot less nerve-wracking doing this on horseback than when he'd flagged down Athos' carriage just standing in the road and had thought for a brief but terrified moment that he was going to be trampled.

The coachman drew his pair of horses to a halt, staring at the silent, dark figures in consternation. Porthos had been warned not to show a weapon too early, or the driver would be more likely to whip the horses on than stop, but now at a nod from Athos they both drew their pistols and moved forward.

"Keep your hands where I can see them." Porthos levelled his gun at the coachman, who immediately threw his hands up in frozen surrender. Porthos relaxed a little, sensing he'd get no resistance out of him. 

Athos rode past the end of the carriage and circled back, shaking his head to let Porthos know there were no additional footmen lurking there, before moving up to the window.

"Good evening," Athos called to whoever was inside, and Porthos had to remind himself to concentrate on covering the driver rather than watching Athos in action.

"Is it?" A woman's voice came from within, sounding distinctly annoyed rather than frightened, and the similarity to Athos' original reaction to him made Porthos smirk under his bandana. 

"It seems to me," the unseen voice continued, "that a good evening would be one where a lady might return to her home without being harassed."

"In which case a lady might perhaps be advised not to travel alone after dark," Athos observed, letting his pistol be clearly seen. It apparently didn't impress.

"An alternative view might be to lock up all men after sundown, and let innocent women go about their business unhindered. Do you know who I am?"

Athos gave an ironic bow. "The Comtesse de Larroque, I believe."

Porthos' eyebrows went up. A wealthy prize indeed, and something of a notorious one. He suddenly realised too, why Athos might eschew local gatherings for reasons other than just being massively unsociable. He would not want his voice too widely recognised.

"Your views on education and emancipation are most enlightened," Athos continued. "And in the spirit of egalitarianism, may I suggest that your sense of self worth can only be enhanced by relinquishing such trappings of the upper classes as that tiara you're wearing, and that most delightful necklace?"

"How dare you!" 

"Oh, and those earrings. Into this bag. If you don't mind."

"I do mind! Very much. I refuse. Shoot me then, and hang for it."

"I'm afraid you don't have a choice. You see, there are two of us, and we will not need to shoot you to strip you of your jewels. To make, shall we say, a voluntary donation, will be so much more dignified for all concerned, don't you think?"

There was a certain amount of indignant spluttering that followed this, and some rather unladylike invective in a lower tone, but eventually the bag was passed back out of the window with the Comtesse's jewels inside and Athos nodded thanks.

"May I say, you look if anything more stunning without them?"

"You may drown yourself in a horsepond, as far as I'm concerned."

Athos gave an ironic bow, and signalled to Porthos to follow before riding swiftly off down the road in the direction the Comtesse had come from.

A mile or so on, he turned off the road and into the trees, Porthos following at his heels until they reached a clearing, where Athos dismounted and kindled a light in the lantern he had lashed to his saddle.

"Take a look," he offered, holding the bag out to Porthos. 

Porthos peered inside eagerly, and whistled. Diamonds and pearls gleamed in the candlelight and he resisted the urge to seize Athos in a bearhug. 

"You did it!"

"We did it," Athos smiled, tying the bag firmly closed again. "You were invaluable."

"You wouldn't really have stripped her by force would you?" Porthos asked curiously. It didn't strike him as something Athos would have endorsed.

"Of course not," Athos protested. "But she's not to know that." He gave Porthos a guilty smile. "I suspect men like me are the reason she writes angry pamphlets."

"So." Porthos grinned at him, keyed up on the adrenaline of their successful heist. "Now what?"

"Now, we go home."

"What?" Porthos looked disappointed. "Come on, let's do another. There's got to be more folks on their way home if there's been a ball or something."

"No," Athos said, shaking his head. "It's unlucky."

"For them, yeah!" Porthos grabbed his arm and looked pleading. "Go on, just one. Let me do it this time, I know what I'm doing now."

Athos looked at him in exasperated amusement, clearly wavering in the face of Porthos' unrelenting enthusiasm. "We shouldn't push our luck," he muttered.

"What's a lucky streak for, if not riding?" Porthos argued. "Come on Athos. While the night's still young, eh?"

Athos sighed. "Oh, very well. If we must."

This time Porthos did hug him, and Athos pushed him away with a tolerant laugh. "One more," he conceded. "But if we don't find a suitable target in half an hour, we're going home."

"Agreed," Porthos said readily. "But we will. I can feel it."

Cautiously rejoining the road, making sure that no pursuit was in evidence, they rode further out until they came to the place it met the main highway. There would be better chance of accosting someone here, with potential traffic coming from a number of directions, and a stand of trees gave them a place to wait out of sight.

As they lurked in the shadows, a persistent creaking noise came to them over the rustling of the trees. Having exchanged a bemused look with Porthos, Athos gave in to curiosity and rode forward a little way to find out where the sound was coming from. What he found, didn't inspire him with confidence.

At the point of the crossroads a gibbet had been set up, and a rotting corpse swung in a metal cage.

"Ugh." Porthos wrinkled his nose, glad the wind was blowing away from them. 

"Not the best of omens," Athos muttered uneasily. "If we get caught, that'll be us. I still think we should quit while we're ahead."

"Where's your sense of adventure?" Porthos argued. "Besides, here's someone coming." His sharp ears had caught the creak of carriage wheels from further up the road. "Remember, this one's mine."

Athos sighed but didn't protest, following Porthos out onto the highway and waiting for the carriage to draw to a halt.

Porthos rode up to the window, and as he drew his pistol Athos did the same, levelling his at the hapless coachman.

"If you could remain in your seat, I'd be much obliged," Athos told him. "Consider this a passing inconvenience, and if you happen to be armed, temporarily forgetting that fact will be healthier for you in the short term."

Porthos grinned, aiming his gun inside the coach. Athos amused him, although his own words were pithier.

"Good evening Sir, Madame," he called, letting Athos know there were two people within. "This is a hold up. Hand over your valuables and no one'll get hurt."

"This is outrageous!" The young man inside glared up at him angrily. "How dare you?"

"Because I'm the one holding the gun," explained Porthos patiently. He threw a cloth bag into the carriage. "Jewellery. Now. And any purses you might be carrying."

"I will not! I'll have your head for this!" The man fumbled for something at his belt, whether dagger or pistol Porthos couldn't tell, because the woman stopped him before he could pull it out.

"D'Artagnan, no." She placed a hand on his arm, looking worried. "Just - do as he says. It's all replaceable. You aren't."

Porthos nodded sagely. "Listen to your wife, m'sieur. She talks sense."

He got a scowl for his pains, but the couple reluctantly dropped several items of jewellery and a heavy money pouch into the bag. 

"And the rest," Porthos directed, with a jerk of his gun.

"You have already taken everything of value, you brute," d'Artagnan snapped. "Or would you have the boots off my feet, or perhaps Constance's petticoats would be more to your tastes?"

Porthos snorted. "Thanks for the offer, but I'll settle for the last gold ring off her finger."

Constance flinched. "Not my wedding ring, I beg you."

At the front of the carriage Athos looked over and frowned behind his mask, but Porthos was intent on doing a thorough job.

"Come on. All of it," he demanded, as Constance reluctantly dropped her ring in with the rest. She turned to her husband, stifling a sob, and that was the straw that tipped him over the edge.

"I'll save the hangman a job, you bastard!" Before Porthos could move or even react, d'Artagnan had wrenched a pistol out from under his cloak and fired it through the window.

Porthos was hurled from his horse, and d’Artagnan shoved the carriage door open, leaping to the ground after him. 

In the few seconds this took, Athos had not been idle. As soon as the shot exploded on the night air, he leaped from his horse to the front of the coach, hauling the driver up by his shirtfront and knocking him senseless with a furious punch. From there, he threw himself towards d’Artagnan, knocking him bodily away from where he was standing over Porthos' prone body and rolling over and over on the ground with him.

The ensuing scuffle ended abruptly when Athos managed to couple a knee in the nuts with a sharp punch to the jaw, and d’Artagnan sprawled out across the verge, half-conscious and groaning.

Athos scrambled to his feet, conscious for the first time that some of the groaning was coming from the vicinity of Porthos, and feeling a flush of relief that he was at least alive.

"Don't move." 

Athos turned to find Constance leaning out of the coach, covering him with a second gun, and groaned inwardly. It just wasn't his night.

\--


	2. Chapter 2

Before Constance could react Athos cocked his own pistol and aimed it, not at her, but at d'Artagnan on the ground, guessing correctly she would care more for his wellbeing than her own.

"Shoot me, Madame, and I promise I will kill him with my dying breath," Athos declared. "Put it down. We can all walk away from here tonight."

Constance stared at him for a long moment, then lowered the pistol with shaking hands and a gasp of thwarted frustration. Athos nodded acknowledgement, then, when he was sure she didn't intend to change her mind, hurried across to Porthos. 

"Where are you hurt?" Athos demanded urgently. He could see blood in the light from the coach lamps, but judging by the fuss Porthos was making he hoped it was hardly a mortal wound.

"My arm," Porthos told him through gritted teeth, clutching his shredded sleeve with bloodied fingers.

Athos rolled his eyes, and picked up the bag of jewellery that had fallen to the ground. For a heartsick moment Porthos thought he intended to leave him, but Athos stayed where he was, hunting quickly through the bag. 

"Here Madame," he called, and threw something through the air that gleamed in the lamplight.

Constance caught it automatically, dropping the pistol entirely to do so, as Athos had rather hoped she would. She looked at the ring lying in her palm with some surprise, then back at Athos.

"Thank you m'sieur," she said, and Athos nodded curtly before bending to grasp Porthos by his good arm.

"Get up," he hissed. Athos shoved Porthos toward his own horse, and helped him clamber awkwardly astride before swinging up behind him. He grabbed the reins of Porthos' horse, and urged both away down the road.

Porthos slumped weakly in the saddle, dizzy with pain and shock. He was grateful for Athos' arm tight round his waist, and that Athos was taking charge of him, because everything else had happened so quickly he couldn't process it.

Athos rode hard, until they were safely back within the boundary of his estate, where he reined in and helped Porthos down. He pulled off his mask and shoved it into a pocket, re-lit the lantern, and eased Porthos' coat off, examining the wound. 

"Is it bad?" Porthos asked, taking off his own mask nervously, the better to make out Athos' expression.

"Flesh wound. You'll live," Athos told him shortly, yanking off his scarf and tying it tightly around the wound to staunch the blood. Porthos got the impression Athos was furious with him, and refrained from saying anything further, so as not to provoke him. He felt sick, and stupid, and helpless, but Athos still helped him back onto the horse, and climbed up behind him as before.

The rest of the journey home passed in a blur, the unwavering strength of Athos' arm around him the single point of reassurance in an otherwise bleak night.

They slammed into the house having abandoned the horses in the courtyard, and Athos bellowed for Celine. At the urgency in his voice she came running with rather more alacrity than usual, and her eyes widened at the sight of Porthos smeared in blood.

"Fetch me hot water and bandages," Athos ordered. "Oh, and my surgical kit."

Celine was startled into a half-curtsey, and hurried back into the kitchen. Athos helped Porthos up the stairs and guided him into Athos' own room, where he let Porthos sag to the bed, groaning.

"Oh, stop making such a fuss," Athos snapped. "And try not to bleed everywhere. Take your shirt off." He stripped off his own coat and gloves, and finally helped Porthos out of the remains of his shirt. Celine appeared with a basin of water and a pouch tucked under her arm, and Athos took both gratefully.

"Thank you. And - could you see to the horses? Sorry."

Celine nodded, then cast a dubious eye at Porthos. "Will he be alright?"

Athos gave her a grim smile. "Oh, I think he'll pull through. I might just kill him afterwards though." Celine snorted with laughter and went out, closing the door behind her. 

"Right. Let's see what you've done." Athos turned his attentions to Porthos, cleaning the wound quickly and efficiently. It wasn’t as bad as he'd feared, the shot had opened up a jagged slash in Porthos' arm, but the ball itself hadn't lodged in the flesh.

"Take off your trousers."

Porthos looked startled. "What?"

"I need your belt." Athos unrolled a cloth bundle that proved to contain a selection of surgical implements and selected a wicked looking hooked needle, holding it in the candle flame.

"What do you need this for?" Porthos asked, unlooping his belt as Athos threaded the needle. 

"You. Bite on it," Athos instructed. "This is going to hurt."

He wasn't joking. Porthos hadn't thought he could be in any more agony than he was already suffering, but over the next few minutes he thought more than once that he was going to pass out.

When Athos was done, he wrapped the wound in clean bandages, and washed his hands in the remaining water. Then he mixed Porthos something in a glass from a bottle taken from his cabinet, and handed it to him.

"Drink this."

Porthos took a sip and almost choked. "Urgh. What the hell's this?"

"Just an opiate," Athos said tiredly, fetching another bottle from the shelf. 

"It's revolting."

"That's how you know it's working," said Athos with a hard-hearted smile. "It will help with the pain," he added more softly, holding the second bottle out to Porthos as he grimaced and downed the rest. 

"Here. Rum. It'll take the taste away."

Porthos took this rather more gratefully, and took a long swig straight from the bottle.

Athos sat down next to him on the edge of the bed, and let out a tired breath as the tension of the preceding hour finally ebbed away. He looked sideways at Porthos and they tentatively smiled at each other, in mutual recognition that things could have been a lot worse.

"Sorry," Porthos said in a low voice, swallowing more rum before offering the bottle to Athos. "I fucked up."

"Yes." Athos accepted the bottle and took a mouthful. He sighed, dropping his head back for a moment and rolling his tense shoulders. "No. Not really. But you shouldn't have taken the ring. People are generally quite sanguine about things that can be replaced when their lives are at risk - but they get quite irrational about things with sentimental value."

Porthos nodded soberly, taking the bottle back again. "I'll know for next time," he said, shooting a speculative look at Athos. He wouldn't blame the man if he never took him out again, but Athos looked surprised.

"You want to come again then?"

"Yeah." Porthos nodded, his head feeling heavy and full of wool. "If you'll have me?"

Athos gave him a considering look, then sighed. "Try not to get shot next time, eh?"

Porthos laughed, his flagging spirits suddenly rising again. "I promise. Hey, I mean, we did okay though, didn't we? I mean look at this stuff." He patted the bag next to him, which clinked. 

"You got shot," Athos pointed out flatly.

"Only a bit." Porthos swallowed more rum. "Thank you, by the way. For stitching me up. Where did you learn to do that?"

"I was in the army, for a time," Athos said vaguely. "It was expected of me."

"Lucky for me, eh?" Porthos smiled, and held out the bottle. Athos took it back with a faint smile, and finally let himself relax.

"Next time you decide you feel lucky, let me know," Athos declared, taking a long drink. "And I'll start running."

\--

The candles had burned low, and the bottle of rum was almost empty. Athos was half-sprawled on the bed, barefoot and shirt hanging open, while Porthos was flat on his back, sitting up only to take the occasional drink and slurring his words.

"We need another bottle," said Athos, sloshing the remains of the rum experimentally and frowning.

"You could ring for Celine," Porthos suggested with a straight face, then curled up in minor hysterics.

Athos smiled, more amused by his giggling than the suggestion. "Do I look suicidal?" He slipped off the bed a little unsteadily and went to see if he had anything stashed away that he'd forgotten about.

Porthos watched him for a moment, then turned his attention to the bag of stolen jewellery. He tipped it out onto the bedspread and let his fingers run through it in delight. In his inebriated and anaesthetised state Porthos was more captivated by the beauty of the pieces than their inherent value, and was glad Athos seemed disinclined to break up the elegant settings.

"Athos."

Athos turned from his unsuccessful search for more alcohol to find Porthos had perched the Comtesse's tiara on his head, and had a string of pearls around his neck. His lips twitched, and he walked slowly back over.

Porthos grinned at him. "I'm a pretty princess," he slurred, as Athos settled on the bed next to him.

"Yes. Yes you are," sighed Athos, letting his gaze roam over Porthos' body. He was shirtless, and the pearls gleamed against his skin. Athos lifted a hand and ran a fingertip down the line of the necklace. "They suit you," he smiled.

Porthos cackled. "Why should women have all the fun?"

"Keep them, if you wish," Athos said, seemingly unable to tear his gaze away. "There's plenty more can still be sold."

"D'you mean that?" Porthos asked, surprised and pleased.

"Consider it compensation for your injury," Athos murmured, fingers ghosting over the bandage wrapped around Porthos' upper arm. "Does it hurt still?"

"Nah." Porthos wriggled experimentally. "Hardly at all. Whatever that shit you gave me was, it seems to have worked a treat."

"That and the rum," Athos admitted. "I probably shouldn't have let you drink with it."

"Best decision you ever made," Porthos declared, hiccupping slightly. "Will it hurt in the morning though?"

"Probably. Not a lot I can do about that." Athos leaned over and pressed his lips to the skin just above the bandage, lingering for a moment. "I'm sorry."

Porthos looked surprised but made no comment, and Athos let his hand find its way back to the necklace, letting the pearls run through his fingers. When he reached the end just above Porthos' navel, he let his hand carry on, stroking slowly down warm skin, over stomach and hip.

When Athos' fingers were an inch from the buttons of Porthos' underwear, a hand closed around his wrist like a vice. He didn't try to pull away, but Porthos didn't shove him off and for a second they remained frozen in place.

"Like that, is it?" Porthos breathed. He sounded neither angry nor encouraging, and Athos risked a glance upwards. Porthos was staring at him fuzzily, as if trying to work out what was going on.

"Yes," Athos whispered back. "If you will allow it."

Porthos frowned, more from confusion than displeasure, but he let go of Athos' wrist. 

"Porthos?" Athos moved his hand away, but leaned in closer. "Will you allow it?" His breath tickled Porthos' skin, and made him shiver.

"What am I allowing?" he said gruffly, but still he made no move to push Athos away, or to move himself.

"Pleasure," Athos whispered, bending to press another kiss to his skin, this time just below his collarbone. When Porthos made no objection, Athos moved lower, making his way across and down Porthos' chest, a slow trail of almost chaste kisses. When he passed Porthos' nipple, he let his tongue flicker out in the briefest of contact, and felt more than heard the sharp intake of breath.

Lower, and Athos took the end of the rope of pearls into his mouth, sucking them in and then drawing them out again, infinitely slowly. When he looked up once more, Porthos was staring at him with wide, transfixed eyes, and Athos could tell in the edge of his vision that Porthos was stiff in his underclothes.

Athos hovered in place for a moment, head bowed over Porthos' belly, hands decorously braced in the bedclothes, not touching him.

"Don't stop then." Porthos' voice was hoarse, shocked but aroused.

Athos nodded briefly without looking up, starting to unfasten Porthos' long underwear. The buttons slipped open neatly beneath his fingers, and he drew out Porthos' rigid cock, stroking him admiringly.

"God you're beautiful," Athos breathed, head still bowed over Porthos' lap, one hand curled around his warm, firm flesh. He felt Porthos give a tight laugh, nervous and needy, and smiled to himself before dipping his head and taking Porthos into his mouth.

Porthos groaned, but it was unmistakeably pleasure now, and Athos sucked down on him, wet and soft and teasing. Porthos jerked involuntarily and almost hit Athos with his knee, immediately mumbling apologies, his mouth and brain only half-obeying him. Athos shifted position, kneeling between his legs instead and taking him back into his mouth, soothing Porthos with gentle touches.

Athos worked him unhurriedly with lips and tongue and fingers until Porthos was bucking into his mouth and swearing like a sailor. Athos gripped his hips firmly and held him in place, sucking down on Porthos in a faster rhythm as he sensed he was nearing climax.

It didn't take much longer. Porthos came with a wordless bellow of completion and spent himself into Athos' mouth, Athos swallowing manfully around him again and again.

Athos sat up, wiping his lips and looking a little dazed. Something bumped against his arm, and he discovered Porthos was holding out the bottle with the last of the rum.

"Takes the taste of almost anything away," Porthos offered. They stared at each other for a second, then both gave a slightly horrified laugh. 

Porthos fell back into the bedclothes, staring up at the shadowy ceiling. "What the fuck just happened?"

Athos finished draining the bottle and let it slip to the floor. "Whatever it was, it was none of your doing, and no shame can attach to you," he murmured. "I'll let you get some rest." He was half off the bed with Porthos grabbed his wrist for a second time.

"Where are you going?" he demanded. 

"Well, I - "

"Come back here." Porthos tugged at his arm until Athos lay down next to him again. "I's your bed, isn't it?"

"Yes but - "

"Take 'em off."

"What?" Athos stared at him, bewildered.

"Your clothes. Take'm off."

"Why?"

"Why do you think?" Porthos gestured impatiently at him, almost hitting him in the face. Athos' erection was obscenely obvious in his tight breeches, but he still flushed with embarrassment at the thought Porthos had noticed. 

Hesitantly, he stripped off his clothes, as Porthos nodded approvingly. "Never let it be said I'm a man who doesn't pay his debts," Porthos declared, ignoring the voice in the back of his head pointing out that technically he was a man who frequently _didn't_ pay his debts, and that was one of the reasons he'd wanted to stay out here in the first place.

Only when Athos was completely naked did Porthos falter slightly. 

"I'm not sure I can - you know. With my mouth," he muttered. "But you're welcome to my hand. If that - I mean - do you - "

"You owe me nothing," Athos promised in a whisper, shaking his head. "You don't have to do this if you - " he broke off with a gasp as Porthos wrapped a firm hand around his cock and squeezed. 

"Shut up," said Porthos, quietly insistent. After a second, he smirked. "Well. You can tell me if I'm doing it wrong." His grin widened. "Or right."

"Oh, you're doing - admirably," Athos managed, and Porthos gave a pleased chuckle at the breathlessness in his voice. He slid an arm around Athos' shoulders and tucked him in closer to his body for warmth. They were both naked by now, and despite the fact he'd come barely minutes earlier, Porthos found he was getting hard again. Working purely on instinct he rolled over slightly until they were face to face and slid his rising cock along the length of Athos'.

Somewhere along the way their remaining inhibitions broke and they pressed against each other in a tangle of limbs, Porthos taking them both into one large hand and jerking them off with a fast, rough rhythm. They came within seconds of each other, a warm slick mess on their bellies, still holding onto each other as their breathing slowly calmed.

Two orgasms on top of half a bottle of rum and a narcotic draught meant by this point Porthos could barely keep his eyes open. He was dimly aware of Athos cleaning him up and pulling the covers over him, and wanted to call out, tell Athos not to go, but his voice wouldn't oblige him. 

In the event, he needn't have worried. Athos climbed in next to him a few minutes later, and as the mattress dipped and Athos' warm body settled against him, Porthos finally let himself fall into a deep and dreamless sleep.

\--

The next morning Porthos woke with an aching head and a throbbing arm. He lay there for a minute, piecing the events of the night before back together, then struggled to sit up as things came abruptly back to him. He was alone in the bed, and of Athos there was no sign. 

The scattered haul of jewellery had gone too, although the rope of pearls was hanging over one of the bed posts. Porthos blinked when he saw it, realising Athos must have taken it off him so he didn't accidentally throttle himself in his sleep.

Porthos climbed out of bed and made hasty use of the chamberpot, before pulling his breeches and boots back on. He stumbled back to his own room to procure a fresh shirt and was relieved to find that someone, be it Celine or Athos, had brought him a basin of water to wash with.

Washed and dressed, with a head still spinning with confused thoughts of the previous evening, he made his way downstairs.

Celine was alone in the kitchen, and gave him a mildly scathing look. "Awake at last, are you?"

Porthos wondered what time it was, realising how late he must have slept.

"Where's Athos?" he demanded, meeting brusqueness with brusqueness. He had discovered one good thing about Celine was that she never minded if you were as surly as she was.

"Up the tower."

Porthos nodded, and made his way through the house and up the stairs, panting slightly by the time he got to the top. The door was ajar, but he knocked anyway out of politeness, despite the fact Athos could hardly have failed to hear his approach.

Athos was standing looking out over the fields, and turned slightly as Porthos came in. His expression was guarded, but he nodded a greeting.

"Porthos. How are you feeling?"

"Bit sore. But I'll live." Porthos smiled at him. "Thanks to you."

"Oh, I did very little," Athos muttered, looking flustered. "It likely wasn't life-threatening. Just be sure to keep it clean. I'll re-bandage it for you, later." He looked away again as he was talking, fidgeting with the china cup in his hand. Finally, he made himself put it down, took a deep breath and turned round.

"I owe you an apology."

Porthos frowned. "What for?"

"Last night," Athos said softly. "You were drunk - and drugged. I took advantage of you, and that was - unforgivable of me."

"Well, it certainly took me mind off being shot," Porthos smiled, but Athos didn't laugh. Porthos sighed. "Look." He came closer, and Athos gave him sad eyes. Porthos stared at him, realising he didn't have the first idea what to say. "It's not."

Athos frowned, lost. "Not what?" 

"Unforgivable."

"You forgive me then?" Athos asked, quietly disbelieving.

Porthos shook his head and Athos looked pained. 

"I mean there's nothing to forgive," Porthos said quickly, realising he'd given the wrong impression. 

"What we did - " Athos broke off, looking guilty. "We - I - shouldn't have."

Porthos shrugged. "Who's going to know?" He looked down into the courtyard at where Celine was feeding the chickens, and realised with a lurch that Celine must almost certainly be aware that he'd spent the night in Athos' bed. Had probably heard them, even. He wondered if Celine knew where they'd been earlier that night. She hadn't seemed overly surprised that he'd come back shot, after all.

"Does she know?" he murmured.

"Celine is - aware of my deviancy, yes," Athos said carefully. 

Porthos almost laughed. "Actually, I meant - about the highwayman thing."

"Oh." Athos looked embarrassed. "Yes. She fences small items for me, sometimes."

Porthos did laugh then. "Some household, eh?"

Athos looked at him. "You really don't mind? About - ?"

"Any of it." Porthos took Athos' hands in his. "I swear." He sighed, mustering his thoughts. "I guess I've - never thought of myself as someone who liked men," he said carefully. "But I could maybe make an exception. For you."

"It's not a requirement," Athos said, rather unsteadily. "You are more than welcome to remain here under whichever conditions suit you, to join me on the road, or not, as you like. I ask only your loyalty, I do not require you to put yourself in my bed if you do not wish it. I would never ask that."

"What if I do wish it?" Porthos asked softly. 

"Then - " Athos hesitated, as if he hardly dared believe what Porthos was offering. He swallowed. "Are you sure?"

Porthos considered. He'd always been happy to go along with whatever seemed best at the time, and he was by no means hypocritical enough to deny the fact he'd enjoyed what they'd done. "I don't see why not. You might have to - uh - show me what you want though. I've not exactly had a lot of experience with, well. You know. Other men." 

"I'm sure we could - " Athos cleared his throat discreetly. "Come to a mutually agreeable arrangement."

Porthos grinned at him, and Athos smiled tentatively back. 

"You realise," said Athos, "that we could be imprisoned, or worse, if anyone were to find out?"

"You seem happy enough to take that risk when it comes to holding up coaches," Porthos pointed out. "And there's far more chance of being recognised there. As long as we try to remember not to screw each other mid-hold-up, we should be fine."

Athos stifled a startled laugh with his hand and Porthos winked at him, suddenly feeling on top of the world despite his aching arm and head. 

"Do you think if we ask nicely, Celine will make us some breakfast?" Porthos asked hopefully.

"I think it's worth a try," Athos agreed, looking happier than he had since Porthos had found him. "Although, after leaving her to see to the horses last night we might have to promise her that tiara."

\--

Having essentially offered Athos his body as well as his service Porthos wasn't sure what to expect, but the day passed much as any other and when Athos rose to go to bed that night, he went alone. Porthos, who'd spent the evening in an increasingly fidgety state of nervous anticipation, found he was obscurely disappointed.

Porthos wondered if Athos had intended merely to be discreet and wanted him to follow him to bed, but dismissed the idea almost as soon as it formed. Athos had said he would see him in the morning, which even to the most hopeful ear sounded nothing like a veiled come-on, and in any case if Celine knew of Athos' predilections as he had said - and given her continued presence presumably didn't care - then there was hardly a need for subterfuge.

As he got ready for bed himself, Porthos wondered if Athos had changed his mind after all. It belatedly occurred to him that, medicinal draught aside, Athos had been almost as drunk as he had, whereas tonight he'd had only a couple of glasses of wine with his supper. What if he regretted it after all? Or was only inclined to want sex when he'd been drinking? 

Porthos climbed into bed and blew out the candle, musing on the events of the night before. He was restless, and more aware of the pain in his arm now he was lying down. Another possibility that suggested itself was that Athos was intentionally giving him space to consider things, and to change his mind. The question was, did he want to change his mind? 

He'd had his share of women in the past, certainly, and liked to think he'd given none of them cause for complaint. He'd been theoretically aware that sex between men went on in some quarters, but most of his knowledge came from the more obscene kind of tavern song, and consequently he'd had a vague impression it was restricted to sailors. 

If he'd been asked to picture such an occurrence, it would have had little resemblance to what had happened between them last night. He remembered now the way Athos' mouth had felt around his cock, and bit his lip to stifle a hum of appreciation. It hadn't been the first time he'd been sucked off, but it had certainly been the best. He wished his memory wasn't quite so blurry regarding some parts, because there were definite elements he'd have liked to relive rather more clearly.

All these recollections had been having a definite effect on Porthos, and he slipped a guilty hand between his legs, pulling his nightshirt up to wrap a hand around his rising cock. The previous night had been the first time he'd been to bed with anyone in a long time, and suddenly his body was impatient for more.

Porthos pulled at himself lazily, enjoying the moment and idly wondering if perhaps Athos was doing the same thing, lying in his chamber across the passage with his prick in his hand. 

Feeling abruptly rather too warm, Porthos hauled his nightshirt right off over his head and shoved the bedclothes down to mid-thigh, ignoring the twinge in his bad arm. He spat into his palm and resumed a firm stroke, cock thick and hard in his hand. 

What would happen if Athos were to walk in now? Porthos bit down a groan, picturing Athos kneeling once more between his legs, clad in nothing but his highwayman's mask. 

His fingers were slick with more than just spit now and Porthos hissed with pleasure, trying to stay quiet. Athos might be safely across the way, but Porthos' room backed onto Celine's and he wasn't sure if she'd gone to bed yet.

He pushed her firmly out of his thoughts, summoning Athos again with the barest twinge of guilt. Such things as he was picturing now were surely scandalous in the extreme, depraved and disgusting, but Porthos couldn't deny that the fantasy - no, the memory - of Athos' cock pressed against his own, of Athos' lips brushing against his skin and sucking around his cock was more arousing than anything else he could imagine.

Skin damp with sweat and muscles aching from tension, Porthos finally found his release, spilling wetly over his fingers and belly with a muffled sigh. He lay there panting and softly laughing, acutely aware of the loud silence of the house, and his own breathing. 

Whatever Athos might ask of him, Porthos was fairly sure now that he would have few hesitations in agreeing to it. 

\--

The next day Porthos was passing Athos' study when he was hailed from inside. Entering, he discovered Athos had the door to the rear store open and an array of boxes on his desk.

"Porthos, good morning. I have an appointment in the capital tomorrow, I'll be needing the coach, please. And we'll be away overnight, you'll need to pack a bag."

"Displaying your wares?" Porthos suggested, and was gratified by the involuntary smile that Athos immediately tried to hide. 

"Something like that," Athos murmured. "Shall I see you downstairs in an hour, say?"

\--

Porthos had the coach ready at the front of the house when Athos came out with two wooden boxes, firmly strapped and locked. He helped Athos lift them into the coach, where to his surprise Athos showed him a hidden catch that lifted up one of the padded seats, and the two boxes fitted neatly inside.

"You're just full of surprises, aren't you?" Porthos grinned, pleased that Athos was trusting him with the knowledge. "Any other hidden secrets I should know about?"

"None that come to mind," Athos smiled. "Are you ready? Are you familiar with the route?"

"Yeah. You'll have to tell me where to go when we get to the city though. I've never actually been there." Porthos lifted Athos' overnight case onto the roof and strapped it down with his own.

"It's certainly an experience." Athos climbed into the coach and then hesitated. "Would you rather I sat up front with you?"

Porthos smiled at him and latched the door. "Nah, you sit tight. Much more comfortable in there, and anyway, it looks like rain."

\--

The journey took up the rest of the day, stopping only once at a coaching inn for a late lunch. It was dark when they finally reached the sprawling outskirts of the city, and Porthos spied the inn that Athos had described to him with considerable relief.

He drove the horses into the yard, and jumped down to help Athos out. Not that Athos needed the assistance, but there were certain appearances to be kept up in public. The brief pressure of Athos' hand in his as Porthos helped him down to the cobbles was enough to send a shiver through him, and Porthos wondered if Athos had felt the same, but he was looking around speculatively, and Porthos sighed.

"Somewhere around here - ah, Jacques." Athos smiled as a stable boy appeared from the shadows with a shy grin. 

"The usual, Milord?" 

"Please." Athos threw him a coin that gleamed gold in the lamplight and disappeared about the boy's person with impressive speed.

Athos strode into the inn and Porthos followed him with their cases, a little anxious.

"Will the - ah - coach - be alright?"

"Oh yes. Jacques will keep a good eye on it."

"All night?" Porthos said dubiously.

"Yes. I think he sleeps in it to be honest," Athos smiled. 

"Does he know?"

"What he's sleeping on top of? No, only that I'm prepared to pay well over the odds to have my property guarded." 

They ate a hearty supper, Athos insisting that Porthos remain to dine with him in the taproom, before retiring to the room they'd been allocated upstairs. It held only one bed, although of generous size, and Athos cleared his throat a little awkwardly.

"There is coachmen's accommodation on the ground floor, if you would prefer that."

Porthos looked at him, trying to work out if Athos wanted him to go, or if he just thought Porthos might want to. 

"What if you need something?" Porthos ventured. "In the night, like? Bit far away."

"Well. Yes. There is that. That would be inconvenient," Athos agreed softly.

Heartened, Porthos took a step closer. "I should probably stay then. On hand, as it were."

"If that's - if you - I mean - " Flustered, Athos looked like a man who suddenly wished he'd had a great deal more to drink with his dinner. 

Porthos wondered how best to approach things. If Athos had been a woman he'd just have kissed him. Were you supposed to kiss each other, when you were both men, or was that frowned upon? Porthos didn't have a clue. There'd been no kissing that first night, as far as he recalled. At least, not on the lips.

Taking courage from the thought that Athos had been the one to initiate things in the first place, Porthos decided it was down to him to demonstrate he was still a willing participant in all of this. Cutting across Athos' faltering attempts to get a meaningful sentence out, Porthos stepped forwards and pulled him into his arms.

To Porthos' deep relief, after one startled intake of breath Athos simply folded into his embrace, mouth yielding beneath the press of Porthos' lips. He was no swooning maiden though, and Porthos experienced an unlooked-for thrill at the fact the arms around him were just as strong as his. The kiss was searing, the unfamiliar prickle of beard against his face unexpectedly arousing, and by common and unspoken consent, they stumbled towards the bed.

\--

The next morning Porthos woke first, and for a moment was confused to find himself in a strange bed. As recollection returned he smiled to himself, surprised by how happy he was feeling. Athos was still slumbering peacefully next to him and Porthos watched him for a while, musing on the events that had lead him down this unexpected path. 

He concluded that he had no real issue with the fact he was lying abed with another man. It was the satisfying of a need, that was all. The indulging of a vice, and Porthos was all for that. The fact he was currently curled sleepily around Athos in a protective sprawl was neither here nor there.

He vaguely hoped there might be a reprise of the previous night's activities, but as soon as Athos awoke he climbed straight out of bed, making no reference to any of it. Porthos resigned himself to the fact that Athos was clearly of similar mind and regarded their liaison as no more than a physical indulgence.

As they dressed, Porthos started wondering instead about the potential perils the day might have in store. 

"Isn't it dangerous, what you're doing? I mean, selling this stuff yourself? The buyer could identify you, surely?"

Athos shrugged. "I have to pass it to someone at some stage, and the fewer links in the chain the safer it is. There are plenty of dealers in the city willing to ask no questions about an object's origin. They don't know who I am, and don't want to. I wouldn't want to risk selling any closer to home." 

"Am I to come in with you?" Porthos asked. "To your appointment?"

Athos looked at him consideringly. "It would certainly be an advantage, if you are willing. But I won't make it compulsory. As you say, the process is not entirely without risk."

Porthos nodded. "Then I'm coming," he said firmly, and Athos smiled. 

"Thank you." 

They travelled together into the heart of the city, Athos sitting up front with Porthos to guide him through the tangle of streets. The coach finally stopped outside a dark and run down looking shopfront in a narrow alley, and Porthos looked at Athos dubiously.

"This is the place," Athos declared, and jumped down to retrieve the jewel boxes from within. 

"Will the coach be safe?" Porthos asked, looking around him worriedly. It struck him as the kind of neighbourhood that would have the boots off your feet if you stood still long enough, let alone an unattended carriage.

Athos nodded discreetly towards the shadows. "See them?"

Porthos grunted an affirmative, surprised that Athos had noticed the lurking figures himself. His estimation of Athos' abilities, already high, went up a notch.

"They work for the proprietor," Athos murmured. "Bad for business, if your customers are robbed outside whilst busy being fleeced inside." He smiled slightly. "Also, they will ensure we are not interrupted." 

Inside, the shop was crammed full of teetering shelving and Porthos followed Athos to the back, petrified he was going to knock something expensive off with a careless elbow. The elderly man seated behind the counter rose and welcomed Athos politely, casting a wary eye at Porthos who folded his arms and concentrated on looking menacing. 

They were lead into a back room where Athos took a seat at a small table and proceeded to lay out his various pieces one by one on a roll of black velvet. Porthos remained standing in the doorway, a silent observer as the old man took out a jeweller's glass and examined each item in minute detail.

When he was satisfied, the extensive negotiations began. Despite firm haggling on both sides the bargaining remained reasonably cordial, and Porthos was impressed by the amount of money they eventually came away with, although it in no way approached the gems' true value. 

Porthos mentioned this once they were safely outside again, and Athos nodded.

"Pays not to be too greedy," Athos told him. "And he's smart enough to make it worth my while to return. There are others who would offer less. I'm content enough."

Heading homewards, the road was muddy from the rain and heavy going, and Porthos was glad when Athos called a halt for a late lunch at a wayside inn. 

They were halfway through their meal when a man and woman entered the dining room and were seated near the door. Porthos, who happened to be facing in their direction, looked over at them a few minutes later once they'd shed their cloaks, and froze. It was unmistakeably the couple from the carriage he'd robbed, the man - d'Artagnan, had his name been? - who'd shot him.

Agitated, Porthos' hand went instinctively to his injured arm. "Athos - "

"I see them," Athos said quietly, despite having had his back to the door and their table. 

"We should go." Porthos made to rise, but Athos reached out and laid a calming hand upon Porthos' sleeve.

"Easy," he murmured. "Don't draw attention to us. We've as much right to be here as them."

Porthos subsided reluctantly into his chair, and waited anxiously while Athos continued eating in a leisurely fashion. Porthos couldn't swallow another bite, pushing his food around half-heartedly, his heart hammering in his chest.

Eventually Athos rose and Porthos followed him out with relief, keeping his head well down and unable to relax until they were back on the road. 

Stomach churning, about a mile down the track he was forced to bring the coach to a halt, and to his eternal shame lost what lunch he'd eaten into the hedge.

When he straightened up, Athos was at his side.

"Sorry." Porthos wiped his mouth with his sleeve, humiliated and sweating.

"It's always a shock, the first time," Athos murmured, resting a light but comforting hand on his back. "Are you alright?"

Porthos gave him a shaky nod. "Sorry," he said again, but Athos shook his head.

"You have nothing to be sorry for. You kept your composure when it mattered, admirably. Look, why don't you ride the rest of the way home in the coach, and I'll drive the horses. It's only another couple of hours or so."

Despite his embarrassed protests, Porthos was hustled into the back and Athos assumed his seat at the front. Porthos had never ridden in such luxury before, and after a while found himself wishing that Athos was in here too, to enjoy the journey with him. 

When they arrived home in the early evening, Celine came out to meet the carriage, and raised an eyebrow at the fact Athos was driving it.

"Where's Porthos?"

"In the back."

She smirked. "You've not broken him again?"

Athos said nothing, but looked considerably more amused than Porthos who climbed out with bad grace and glared at Celine. "I'm fine."

When the coach and horses had been seen to they convened in the kitchen, where Athos took a seat at the table and carefully tallied up the day's proceeds, recording the amount in a battered notebook. He then went on to count out substantial piles of coins, and gave one sum to Porthos and another, to Porthos' surprise, to Celine.

Something of his brief indignance must have shown in his face, because Celine glared at him defensively. "Problem?"

"No." Porthos shook his head quickly but she stalked off, coins clinking in the pocket of her apron.

"Celine is as valuable a member of this household as any," Athos said softly. "And works harder than either of us. Besides, some of that will end up going towards the food you eat."

"I never said I had a problem with it," Porthos muttered, but he felt ashamed, both of his uncharitable impulse and that both of them should have read it so easily. Athos smiled at him though, and laid a hand briefly on his shoulder as he passed, carrying the remaining money away to be locked up in safety. 

Athos returned to the kitchen for supper, and when it came time to retire he paused in the doorway, shooting a hesitant but questioning glance back at Porthos. Porthos immediately leapt to his feet and produced a loud and fake yawn for Celine's benefit, before following him out.

He trailed Athos eagerly up to his room, and took him into his arms as soon as the door was closed behind them. Porthos had discovered during the previous night that he very much enjoyed kissing Athos, and was pleased that Athos didn't seem to mind. In fact Athos had seemed faintly amused by his enthusiasm for it, but he hadn't discouraged him, had done everything in his power to make Porthos feel comfortable and happy. 

Porthos had been mentally braced - at least he'd thought he was - for anything Athos might ask of him, but in the event all they had really done was lie together and bring each other off with their hands. It had all been a lot more relaxed than anything Porthos might have pictured, and he had no qualms about doing it again - doing it, in fact, as many times as Athos would allow.

\--

The happy mood Porthos woke in the next day lasted exactly as long as it took to dress and descend to the kitchen, where Celine gave him a look of such black disfavour that he physically took a step backwards. 

Turning her back on him, she ignored all attempts at conversation or enquiry and eventually he retreated, wondering guiltily if this were the result of him having so blatantly spent the night with Athos. He'd assumed that she'd known and not minded about their liaison, after all they'd hardly been discreet or quiet the first night they'd spent together. But maybe she hadn't realised after all, or had thought it a one-off. Athos had said she knew about his preference for men, but Porthos had to allow that didn't mean she'd necessarily approve of them carrying on shamelessly in front of her.

He eventually found Athos out in the stables, where he'd apparently also fled to escape Celine's bad mood. To Porthos' deep relief Athos greeted him with a smile, laying to rest his unfounded fear that he'd somehow done something wrong and would find Athos equally as angry with him. 

When he asked the reason for Celine's temper Athos merely shrugged, declaring that the moods of women remained unfathomable to him and he'd learnt it was simply safer to keep his distance until she came round, if only for the sake of his crockery. 

"I have enough days myself where I'd like to shout and throw things," he confessed with a rueful smile. "I'm willing to let it pass in her." 

All day Celine remained in a terrible mood, clattering about in the kitchen and chasing out anyone who ventured inside. Consequently, Porthos sat down to supper that evening in some trepidation, half-expecting to be poisoned. To his surprise, the food was the best he'd ever eaten. 

Even Athos was surprised. "This is delicious," he told her. "It must have taken you hours."

Celine gave a slight shrug, but Porthos could see she was pleased by the compliment. There was still tension in her shoulders though and he wondered uncomfortably what was wrong, and if he was the cause of it. When they'd finished eating he added his hearty praise to Athos', and she looked back at him with dark, unreadable eyes.

"At least I'm good for something, eh?" 

She'd muttered it so quietly Porthos almost missed it, but Athos put down his glass and looked at her in concern. "Celine?"

"Well, what'd you want me for, when you're - " she broke off and retreated from the table, Athos hastily getting to his feet and following her across the room.

She stopped by the range, fidgeting with pan lids and keeping her back to them. "Don't need me, d'you?" she said finally. "'Cept neither of you can cook."

Athos sighed, suddenly realising how fragile she must believe her position here, how afraid she must have been that now Porthos was his lover they wouldn't want her in the way. 

"Celine - there will always be a place for you here," he said quietly. "Always. I promise."

She finally let him turn her round, and to Porthos' surprise Athos took her into his arms and gave her a warm hug. He met Athos' eyes over her bowed head.

"Athos. Can I borrow your key?" He got to his feet, thinking of something Athos had said and a way to make things better, or at least cheer Celine up.

Athos frowned, but drew out the key that now hung from a black ribbon around his neck and handed it over without comment.

Porthos ran up to Athos' study and let himself into the little store at the back. He was sure what he was looking for was still here, that Athos hadn't taken it with the rest to be sold. Yes, there it was, the tiara they'd taken from the Comtesse de Larroque.

He went downstairs again, hiding it behind his back. Celine was seated once more at the table, and Athos looked up enquiringly before catching sight of what Porthos was holding. He smiled, nodding slightly, and Porthos went over to Celine.

"Close your eyes."

She glared at him suspiciously. "No?"

Porthos sighed, and held it out. She drew in a sharp breath.

"Is that - for me?"

"Yes."

Celine looked at Athos for confirmation, who nodded.

"You think you can buy my good will, do you?" she asked Porthos acerbically. He just shrugged, and smiled at her.

"I dunno, can I?"

Celine relented, finally taking it from him and gazing at it covetously. "It's beautiful."

"So are you," said Porthos gallantly. "Try it on." 

She snorted, but went over to the looking glass, settling it neatly in her hair. She smiled at her reflection, but there was still a sadness about it.

"Don't you like it?" Athos asked, exchanging a look with Porthos.

"Course I do. Hardly the sort of thing a housekeeper wears though, is it?" she sighed.

"I bet more'd wear them if they had them," Porthos pointed out. "Start a fashion."

Celine's smile became a fraction warmer. "Maybe," she allowed.

The rest of the evening passed in considerably better humour, but when Porthos made to follow Athos to bed he stopped him in the passage between their rooms. 

"Perhaps we'd better not," Athos suggested. 

"Why?" asked Porthos, disappointed.

"Just for tonight. I don't want to upset Celine any more than I need to. Perhaps we should be less - obvious." He saw Porthos' expression and laid a hand on his arm. "All her life, Celine has believed her only value lies in being used by men. It's not an easy line to tread, trying to convince her of her own worth, without making her think she is simply not wanted because of her scars."

Porthos sighed. "Just the one night?" he checked, and Athos nodded.

"One night. I promise. I am far too impatient to wait any longer than that."

Porthos duly went to bed alone, trying not to mind. Personally he didn't see the problem; at no point had Celine actually objected to the fact of their being together. He wondered, not for the first time, if she didn't harbour some kind of feelings for Athos. It would explain her hostility towards him. 

He sighed, rolling onto his back and staring into the dark, listening to the house creaking and settling around him. 

Creaking rather more than usual, now he came to think about it. And was that his door that had just opened and closed quietly?

"Who's there?" Porthos sat up in alarm.

"Shh. It's only me," came Athos' voice close at hand, and the bed dipped as someone climbed up next to him.

Porthos sighed with relief and laughed, both at his own nerves and at Athos' unexpected reappearance.

"Hello," he murmured, reaching out and exploring the shape of Athos in the dark, pulling him into his arms. Athos was wearing only a nightshirt, and Porthos held up the covers for him to wriggle in next to him.

"So it turns out I couldn't wait at all," Athos confessed, and Porthos laughed again, kissing him delightedly. 

"I like a man who knows what he wants."

"Are you sure you don't mind?" Athos whispered, having a sudden guilty crisis of confidence. "You're not just saying yes to all this because I'm asking it of you are you? I'd hate to think that. Your position here is in no way dependent upon your willingness to remain in my bed."

Porthos shook his head, then realised Athos probably couldn't see him. 

"Believe me, it's a pleasure not a chore," Porthos promised, kissing him deeply until Athos was breathless and half-laughing.

"I had never thought to find you so - open to these things," Athos murmured. "Forgive my asking but - have you been with a man before?"

"No. You're my first." Porthos smiled, enjoying the confidence the darkness gave him, and sliding his hands up inside Athos' nightshirt. "I'm guessing you have though?"

"Mmmn." Athos squirmed under his hands as Porthos found a ticklish spot, and then stripped off his nightshirt entirely. "As it turned out, my spell in the army was rather more educational than I had expected."

Porthos snorted with laughter. "All those nice young men in their uniforms, full of pent up aggression and away from their sweethearts?"

Athos gave a huff of amusement. "There were - one or two perhaps. I wasn't quite as bad as you make me sound. Not as bad as some, certainly." He guided Porthos down into a soft kiss. "Do you mind?"

"That you've been with others? Nah, course not." Porthos grinned. "At least, not so long as you promise to teach me everything you learned."

"I think that could be managed, certainly." There was a smile in Athos' voice, and his hands were lifting Porthos' nightshirt up. Porthos' cock rose accordingly, and he sank happily back into the pillows with Athos on top of him.

Afterwards, when they were spent and sleepy, lying in each others' arms exchanging lazy kisses, Athos sighed. 

"I should go back to my own room," he murmured, reluctant to leave the musky warmth of Porthos' bed.

Porthos wrapped his arms around Athos possessively. "Stay," he breathed, equally loathe to let him go. Athos needed little convincing, and settled down to sleep with a quiet sigh. 

\--

Porthos was woken early the next morning by the distant sound of banging, and opened a bleary eye to find Athos blinking back at him, equally bemused. Porthos had just identified the noise as someone hammering on a nearby door when it stopped, to be followed by footsteps stamping down the passage towards them.

A sharp series of raps on Porthos' door made them both jump, and Porthos barely had time to open his mouth before the door was thrown open and Celine marched in.

"Come in why don't you," Porthos growled. She spared him a single withering glance before turning to Athos, who was sitting up in alarm.

"Celine. What's wrong?" Knowing she wouldn't have barged her way in here unless it was urgent.

"There's a gentleman arrived downstairs," Celine told him shortly. "Demanding to see Porthos."

Porthos sat up in surprise, staring at her in confused shock.

"Did this gentleman give a name?" Athos demanded exasperatedly. "Or say what he wanted?"

"The Comte de Rochefort," Celine told him. "Says Porthos owes him money."

Porthos' heart sank into his stomach, and when Athos turned to stare at him all he could do was stare back in helpless silence.

"Is this true?" Athos asked.

Porthos nodded miserably and Athos frowned at him, clearly taken aback. "I specifically asked you if there was anyone likely to follow you here!" 

"You asked if I was wanted by the law," Porthos protested, but Athos cut him off.

"You knew damn well what I meant." Athos made to get out of bed, remembering he was naked just in time and looking up at Celine in flustered irritation. "Go back downstairs and make him welcome until I get there. And be nice."

Celine frowned. "I don't like him. He's creepy."

Athos glared at her. "Then be as unpleasant as you like, but bear in mind if he takes it into his head to return with a magistrate you'd do well not to answer the door wearing a tiara." 

Celine considered what he was getting at and nodded. "Point taken." She swept out and Athos got up, hurriedly pulling his nightshirt on. 

"How much do you owe him?" Athos asked curtly, not looking at Porthos who was by now struggling into his own clothes. 

"Two months' rent," Porthos admitted. "But let me just explain - " 

"Save it," Athos snapped, and strode out, slamming the door behind him.

Athos followed the sound of voices to the rarely-used parlour, and found their unwelcome visitor within, being served Athos' best brandy despite the early hour.

"Rochefort." Athos held out his hand and Rochefort shook it firmly. 

"La Fère! It's been a long time."

"Has it?" Athos accepted coffee from Celine and discovered on the first sip that she'd laced it with brandy, shooting her a silent look of approval. "I find it hard to keep track of time," he added, just quickly enough to disguise the blatant insult. 

"You should spend a little more time in polite society, and a little less as a shut-in," Rochefort declared, throwing himself into a satin-covered chair and resting one polished boot upon the opposite knee.

Celine poured him more brandy to distract from the cloud of dust that had risen up when he sat down, and made no complaint when he snaked an arm around her waist and drew her closer.

"I understand you have a grievance with one of my staff," Athos said, briefly nervous that Celine would brain the Comte with the brandy bottle. But Celine had apparently taken his warning and instruction to heart, and actually settled on Rochefort's lap, looking up at him with a vacuous and distant smile.

"I'm pleased to see at least some of your servants know how to behave," Rochefort smirked, and Athos forced himself not to react, knowing this would need to be played carefully. 

A movement in the doorway heralded Porthos' entrance and he looked round at them nervously, sickened to see Celine draped over Rochefort in apparent adoration. 

"Porthos!" Rochefort laughed unpleasantly and rose to his feet, shoving Celine unceremoniously to one side. "So this is where you've got to."

"He owes you money?" Athos pressed.

"Three month's rent."

Porthos bridled. "That's not true - " he started, only to fall silent at a quelling look from Athos.

"Shall we call it four, to make up for the trouble you have been put to?" Athos said smoothly, taking a purse out of his coat. 

"He doesn't deserve that - " Porthos blurted, but Athos swung round and glared at him.

"Did I give you permission to speak?" he roared, and Porthos hung his head, stunned and guilty and miserable.

Rochefort watched this with a smile, and accepted the money Athos counted out for him with a gracious bow. "This is very generous of you la Fère. Given that it's not your debt to settle."

"Oh not really, I shall simply deduct it from his wages," Athos said carelessly. 

Rochefort laughed all the more, and shook Athos' hand again heartily. "I've perhaps misjudged you, la Fère," he said thoughtfully. "Hadn't realised you were quite so - sensible." He reached into his coat and withdrew a slip of card. "I am holding a ball next week, for my birthday. I wonder if you'd consider attending."

Athos bowed stiffly. "I'd be honoured."

When Rochefort had gone, Athos finally turned to regard Porthos, and there was a coldness in his eyes that made Porthos' heart sink. He fully expected to be fired on the spot - or at least whenever he'd worked off however much he now owed Athos.

"Are there any others?"

Porthos blinked. "Others?"

"Debtors. Do you owe anyone else money?"

Porthos hesitated. "A couple. Gambling debts," he admitted.

Athos threw the purse down on the table in front of him with a chink of coins. "Pay them. Take one of the horses, go into town, and pay off everyone you owe money to."

"Athos - "

" _Now_. Oh, and Porthos?" He waited until Porthos looked round. "Under no circumstances are you to enter into any fresh games while you are there."

When Porthos had gone, Athos turned to Celine, who'd been standing there the whole time, silent and watchful. His expression softened and he sighed regretfully.

"When I said be nice to Rochefort I didn't mean you had to - to - I wasn't asking you to - " he faltered, guilt stricken.

Celine shrugged. "Men expect to be adored, they don't consider you might be putting on an act. Playing up to him - it was nothing to me. And nothing I haven't done before."

"I'm truly sorry," Athos sighed. He should have known better, should have realised that Celine's way of distracting Rochefort would mean reverting to old behaviours.

"You are too, aren't you?" Celine said quietly, looking up at him in something like confused wonder. "I've never met a man like you, Athos."

Athos laughed quietly, shaking his head. "I'm no better than any other."

Celine took his hands in hers briefly, and rose to brush a light kiss to his cheek. Athos looked at her, surprised. 

"What was that for?"

"You know how you keep telling me how I'm better than I think?"

Athos nodded.

"Well so are you." 

\--


	3. Chapter 3

It was getting dark when Porthos returned to the house, having finally tracked down all those he owed money to and paid them off, in most cases to their considerable surprise. Unsure of his welcome he sidled in as cautiously as the cat, and was somewhat relieved to find Celine alone in the kitchen.

"Athos is upstairs," she told him, taking his rain-soaked coat and handing him a bowl of warm broth. 

Porthos was grateful for both the food and the smile he received. He'd expected Celine to crow over his sudden fall from Athos' favour, but instead she was kind to him, and he realised he'd misjudged her. 

When he'd eaten, Porthos made his way upstairs in some trepidation. A light showed under the door to the study, and he knocked softly.

"Come in."

Athos looked up to find Porthos hesitating in the doorway and nodded slow acknowledgement, beckoning him forward. Porthos came in and shut the door, taking the chair next to Athos. He placed the purse on the table, considerably lighter than it had been that morning, but not quite empty.

"It's done," said Porthos soberly. "Everyone I owed money to. And I came straight back," he added, nervous that Athos might think his late arrival was due to becoming embroiled in further games, when in reality some people had just proved hard to find. He'd been too scared to come back with the task half-done.

Athos just nodded again, and Porthos bit his lip. "You're angry with me."

"Disappointed, would be perhaps closer to the truth," said Athos quietly. He sighed, looking at Porthos directly for the first time. "Why didn't you tell me before? I'd have given you the money."

"You'd already been so generous," Porthos said awkwardly. "I didn't like to ask for more."

"Even after we'd become - " Athos hesitated. "Intimate?"

"Especially then! I didn't want you to think I was after your money, Athos. I'm not." Porthos looked at him pleadingly. "I'm sorry. I'll pay it back, all of it, I swear."

Athos waved that away with a dismissive flick of his hand. "Hardly necessary. I only said that to shut Rochefort up." He sighed, some of the tension seeping out of his posture. "I'm sorry I spoke so harshly to you," he murmured. "It was necessary to make Rochefort think you would be dealt with, or he might have tried to pursue things himself."

Hope returned to Porthos' heart like a rising dawn. "Does that mean you forgive me?"

Athos gave him a wry smile. "If I didn't, you wouldn't be here."

"Oh. Right." Porthos swallowed, then cheered up again. He'd thought he'd inadvertently ruined everything, but maybe things would be alright after all.

"What was it you wanted to tell me?" Athos asked.

"Eh?"

"Earlier. You wanted to explain something to me."

"Oh." Porthos shrugged. "I guess it doesn't really matter."

Athos reached over and laid a hand over his. "Tell me?"

Porthos captured Athos' hand in his, and kissed him on the knuckles, making him smile.

"I used to have a job," Porthos said slowly. "In a warehouse. It was owned by Rochefort. We were obliged to live in accommodation he owned, as part of our contract. We'd get paid our wages, and half of it would immediately go back to him as rent."

"That's despicable."

Porthos nodded philosophically. "It was at least a roof over my head, and while the money was coming in it wasn't such a problem. But then - one night, there was a fire. The warehouse burned down, until there was nothing left. Rochefort made noises about rebuilding, but he never did. So I was out of a job - no money coming in, and tied into a lease that meant I still owed him rent every month." 

"He still made you pay?" Athos asked incredulously.

"Oh yeah. He said if we didn't, he'd see us end up in prison. I tried to get work somewhere else, but there were a lot of us going after the few jobs there were. What little money I had put by soon went. I pawned all my things. I couldn't even afford food in the end. That was when I figured I'd try my hand at highway robbery," Porthos added with a bleak smile. "I was desperate. And then, somehow, my luck changed." He still had hold of Athos' hand, and Athos squeezed his fingers sympathetically. 

"I'm sorry," Athos said softly. "I hadn't realised how bad things had been for you."

Porthos smiled at him. "I still should have come clean about my debts. I suppose I just didn't think he'd bother hunting me down. It must be such a tiny amount, for someone like him."

Athos snorted. "Someone like him, as you put it, is never going to let it drop if he thinks he's been slighted or someone has got one over on him. It was why I was prepared to pay him so much more than he was owed, to get him to leave. I know you thought I shouldn't have."

"It's not for me to say," Porthos conceded. "You must know him better than me."

"A brief acquaintance, thankfully. I've always tried to avoid the man."

Porthos nodded, then to Athos' surprise slid from his chair to kneel on the floor in front of him.

"I said I forgive you," Athos smiled. "You hardly need to get on your knees for me."

"You might have forgiven me," said Porthos in a low voice, "but I reckon I still have to make it up to you." He shuffled forwards until he was kneeling between Athos' legs, placing his hands deliberately on Athos' thighs and stroking slowly upwards.

"Oh." Athos looked abruptly lost for words, as he took Porthos' meaning. " _Oh_."

Fingers splayed and thumbs dipping between his thighs, Porthos let his hands slide towards Athos' groin, eyes fixed on the increasing bulge as his cock thickened obscenely in the tight breeches.

He knew Athos was watching him, gripping the arms of his chair, but Porthos didn't look up. Athos' erection was firm under his hand and Porthos stroked along the length of him, smiling at the sharp intake of breath this elicited. 

Porthos teased him for a while, rubbing him through the cloth, feeling his cock swell further until Athos was shifting impatiently in the chair. He said nothing though, keeping his hands clamped to the woodwork and allowing Porthos do as much or as little as he wanted.

Eventually Porthos unfastened Athos' breeches and slipped his hand inside, licking his lips in a combination of nerves and anticipation. Whilst Athos had sucked him off a couple of times, Porthos had yet to pluck up the courage to return the favour. 

He lowered his head and took Athos carefully into his mouth. It was a strange experience, but at the same time unquestionably exciting and Porthos' own cock was soon rigid against his leg.

Athos gave a groan of approval as Porthos licked around him experimentally, figuring out what he could comfortably do. Initially he tried to take Athos in too deep and had to draw back coughing, his eyes watering painfully. Athos relinquished his death-grip on the chair arms and rested a hand on Porthos' head instead, stroking his hair and murmuring praise and comforting encouragement. 

Recovering himself, Porthos started again, grateful for the fact Athos had neither laughed nor asked if he wanted to stop. He wasn't doing this out of penance, but from genuine curiosity and increasing arousal. He was getting the hang of it now, using his hands to help where his mouth couldn't manage, and the breathy moans Athos was producing suggested that despite his inexperience, he wasn't doing badly.

As Porthos hadn't objected to the touch, Athos' fingers were now carding rhythmically through his hair, tugging gently at his curls as Porthos sucked around him. Porthos enjoyed the sensation, working harder with lips and fingers as he felt Athos' body tensing under his hands, hearing his breath getting faster, shallower, and guessing he was close.

Eager to make Athos come, Porthos had been determined to take the results in his stride however revolting they might be, but in the event the first sudden spurt of thick semen in his mouth made him jerk instinctively backwards. This meant the second and third splattered across his face and he sat back on his heels in rueful amusement as Athos doubled over in breathless laughter.

"Christ, I'm sorry." Athos leaned forward and wiped the worst away before cupping Porthos' face in his hands and kissing him deeply. "Sorry," Athos apologised, trying not to start laughing again at Porthos' air of disgruntled martyrdom.

Porthos broke into a wide smile. Athos seized by genuine, helpless laughter was a rare sight indeed, and he would gladly look ridiculous if that was the price to be paid for it.

Athos had a better reward in mind though, and tugged at his hand. "Stand up," he urged, and when Porthos hauled himself to his feet, Athos pulled him in to stand between his legs and started unfastening his lacings. Porthos' cock slapped out into his hand as if spring-loaded, and Athos almost had a fit of the giggles. He stifled the urge via the prudent measure of putting his mouth to better use, and Porthos let out a heart-felt groan as Athos sucked him down. 

Watching the dark head bobbing industriously at his groin, Porthos resolved to learn how to take Athos as far down his throat as Athos was currently doing to him, although he harboured the suspicion it might involve having to learn how to breathe through his ears.

Shortly after that, coherent thought shut down altogether and Porthos' world narrowed to the feeling of Athos' hot mouth and firm hand. There was no undignified spluttering this way round, Athos swallowed every drop from Porthos' embarrassingly fast climax without flinching for a moment.

When it was over, Porthos dropped bonelessly into the seat next to him and kissed Athos' messy mouth with enthusiasm.

"Are you tired?" Athos murmured, his head resting against Porthos' as they slumped as close to each other as they could get whilst occupying separate chairs.

"I could go again," Porthos rumbled with a grin.

Athos laughed. "Tempting, although not actually what I had in mind." He reached into a drawer of the desk and took something out, trailing it over Porthos' leg. A black mask.

Porthos met his gaze and nodded eager agreement to the unspoken proposal. Athos smiled.

"Then let's go."

They changed into clothes more suitable for the expedition and headed out into the night. Porthos had expected they would make for the same spot as before, but Athos lead him along a different route, clearly riding through the narrow lanes with a specific location in mind.

He finally reined in on a stretch of road that looked to Porthos like any other, and turned to him with a slight smile. "I confess this is mostly on a hunch, whether we're lucky will depend on how long he's been - " Athos broke off and listened intently. Porthos heard hoofbeats approaching and felt a shiver of anticipation.

"Let me handle this," Athos said quietly. Porthos nodded but looked gloomy, and Athos reached out to clasp his arm. "I have every faith in your abilities. But you'll see why." He pulled his scarf up to cover his mouth and urged his horse out into the road. Porthos followed suit, and was surprised to find their prey was not a coach but a lone rider.

"Hold, sir." Athos raised his pistol, and Porthos had a surprise. While Athos' tone had lost none of its commanding force, he'd dropped about three social classes - and as soon as the accosted rider spoke, he knew why Athos was disguising his voice.

"What is the meaning of this?" the man barked, and Porthos nearly lost his seat in shock. It was Rochefort.

"The meaning is quite simple," Athos called out. "We are here to relieve you of those rather uncomfortably heavy looking moneybags hanging from your saddle. Hand them over and you won't get hurt."

Rochefort drew his own pistol, but hesitated as Porthos rode up beside Athos, then on round to the back of him. Unable to keep an eye on both of them at the same time, Rochefort spluttered angrily.

"You won't get away with this!" 

"With respect sir, I rather think we already have." Athos gestured meaningfully with his gun and Rochefort handed the clinking sacks over to Porthos with snarling reluctance.

"We thank you for your generosity," Athos said politely. "And your good sense."

Thwarted and outgunned, Rochefort spat in the dirt. "You've got what you came for, now get out of my sight you miserable dogs."

Athos shook his head. "You first, my lord."

"So you can shoot me in the back I suppose?"

"More to prevent you having the same idea. Go on, be off with you."

Porthos slapped Rochefort's horse smartly on the rump to encourage his departure and the man disappeared up the road with rather more speed than was good for his dignity. 

They watched him go, and as soon as he was out of sight, turned to each other in jubilation. 

"How did you know he'd be here?" Porthos wondered, grinning widely.

"It's his route home. The invitation he left recalled to me the whereabouts of his house. I trusted his business would have kept him in town most of the day, we were obviously his first call. Nearly missed him as it was."

"Perfectly timed, I'd have said," Porthos declared, and leaned over in his saddle to kiss Athos on the mouth.

Athos laughed. "Enough of that out here! Come on, let's get our prize home, before he takes it into his head to return with a mob of his labourers."

They rode hard and made the house just before midnight. Celine had already retired, and they shut themselves in the study and lit the lamps.

Athos poured them both brandy, as Porthos spilled the contents of the two small sacks across the desk.

"There's a lot more here than you gave him," Porthos realised, staring at the heaps of coins in some astonishment.

"Clearly our lucky night." Athos handed him a glass and threw himself into his chair, well pleased with their result. Porthos though, was frowning.

"He must have spent the day collecting his rents. Doesn't trust anyone else to do it, in case they skim any off."

Athos shrugged, not seeing a problem. "So?"

Porthos looked at him unhappily. "He won't just shrug this off."

"He doesn't know it was us."

"No, I mean - he'll be back demanding his tenants all pay again."

Athos blinked. "But they've already paid!"

"Won't bother him. He'll blame them for the loss, somehow. I guarantee it. He'll force them to pay twice."

"Well. That's unfortunate, but I'm not sure what you expect me to do about it?"

Porthos twisted an empty sack between his hands, looking down at Athos awkwardly. "We could - give them the money," he suggested quietly.

Athos raised an incredulous eyebrow. "You want me to hand Rochefort his money back? That is, ultimately, what you are saying?"

"No. I'm saying he'll take it again regardless of what we do. That people who can ill afford to pay it once will be forced to pay it twice. That they'll go hungry. Maybe even starve. Because of us, of what we've done."

"I'm not a charity."

"But you are a good man," said Porthos hopefully.

Athos stood up, coldly aloof. "Perhaps you mistake me." 

Porthos hung his head. "Then, may I respectfully request an advance on my wages for the next month? And I'll divide that between them instead."

Athos stared at him for a long moment. "You are really so determined?"

"I am."

"Fine." Athos sighed, shoving the pile of coins disgustedly across the desk towards him. "Do as you will." In a fit of bad temper he tore off the key from round his neck and threw that down as well. "Why not give them everything while you're at it? Let them live like kings."

He strode towards the door, then paused and looked round. "Oh, one word of advice, in case you were hoping to become some sort of hero to these people - you would do well to be discreet. Leaving any kind of trail that leads back here would be extremely unwise."

Athos drained his brandy in one gulp and banged the glass down on a shelf as he pulled the door open.

"Where are you going?" Porthos called after him.

"To bed. Come with me - or not - as you wish." Athos banged the door shut behind him and Porthos sank into his vacated seat, slamming his fist down on the table in frustration.

\--

In the end, Porthos went with his conscience. He rode the long miles back into town and made arrangements for the money to find its way where it was needed. By the time he returned to the house it was gone three in the morning, and he expected to find all in darkness - but a light was showing under Athos' bedroom door.

He hesitated. Surely Athos hadn't waited up for him? Wary of walking into another argument but knowing he'd be unable to sleep if he went to bed alone, Porthos tapped lightly on the door and lifted the latch.

Athos was sitting up in bed, a book in his lap and what remained of the brandy on the nightstand. He looked up as Porthos came in, but said nothing.

Porthos came over and sat on the edge of the bed by Athos. "It's done," he said softly. "And carefully." He remembered the key, and drawing it out of his pocket proceeded to tie its ribbon gently back around Athos' neck.

Athos let him do it, watching him with unreadable eyes.

"Do I have anything left, or are you intent we are the ones to starve this month?" he asked finally. Despite the sharpness of his words his tone was resigned rather than angry, and Porthos just smiled at him.

"I gave them as much as they will need to pay Rochefort, no more no less. The rest is safely locked away in the store, including everything you gave him this morning."

Athos dropped his gaze, feeling abruptly ashamed. "You must be so disappointed in me," he muttered.

"Why would you think that?" Porthos asked, genuinely bemused.

"I'm not the man you want me to be." 

Porthos shook his head. "You've never known what it is to be hungry. That's not your fault, and it's not something I'd wish on you. But I have - and while I might have fallen on my feet here, I'll not forget it so quickly."

"I'm sorry."

"Why? You _gave_ them the money."

It was Athos' turn to shake his head. "I gave _you_ the money."

Porthos laughed, and Athos finally gave him a sad smile. "Apparently I can refuse you nothing," he whispered, and Porthos leaned in to kiss him softly.

"In that case, I have one more thing to ask of you."

"Name it," Athos breathed, his lips brushing Porthos' as he spoke. Porthos kissed him again before drawing back a little to look at him.

"Make love to me?"

Athos looked at him with dark, startled eyes, but taking Porthos at his word gave a slight nod and they fell together, kissing in earnest.

They'd skirted round the suggestion of this before, but Athos hadn't pushed and Porthos hadn't yet had the confidence to offer. Tonight though, he felt the need to be as close to Athos as physically possible and from the heat of Athos' kisses he felt the same.

Porthos pushed the bedclothes back, pulling Athos against him. Porthos was still dressed in outdoor clothes and riding boots, whereas Athos was clad only in a nightshirt, and they both felt the thrill of it, sprawling together in the bed and pressing together eagerly.

This was in itself considerably diverting, and they entertained each other for some time in this way, gradually shedding items of clothing until they were adorned by nothing but the gold ring in Porthos' ear and the key hanging about Athos' neck. 

Naked, their antics became a little more purposeful and Porthos experienced a prickling anticipation at the thought of what was to come. Athos was in no hurry though, and took his time to work Porthos into a state of high excitement before venturing anywhere more compromising than his cock.

Eventually Porthos took matters upon himself and guided Athos' hand pointedly to his own arse, nodding assent to the questioning look Athos gave him.

Athos smiled, and kissed him smartly. "Hold that thought," he murmured and slipped out of the bed, nimbly avoiding Porthos' clutching hands with a breathy laugh. "You'll thank me in a minute," he added, crossing the room to open the front of his cabinet and search briefly amongst the clinking bottles within.

Porthos leaned back and folded his arms behind his head, content enough for the moment to watch Athos wandering about naked and hard. "Not another pain-killing draught I hope," Porthos called. "You ain't that big."

Athos smirked. "This is for me, not you," he told Porthos, coming back to the bed with a small bottle in his hand. "A light rubbing oil, handy for stiff joints. Amongst other things."

"A result of your military education?" Porthos teased, hoping to cover his rising nerves.

"I learnt it pays to keep moving parts well lubricated, yes," Athos deadpanned and Porthos cackled delightedly.

"You're full of filth on the quiet, aren't you?"

Athos quirked an eyebrow but didn't respond, and Porthos pulled him down for a kiss, still laughing. Athos smiled to himself, feeling Porthos physically relax and knowing it would make it easier and more comfortable for him.

They lay back down together, and Porthos unhesitatingly spread his legs for Athos' questing fingers. He tensed a little at first at the unfamiliar intrusion, but gradually relaxed into it once he found it didn't hurt. Athos, he suspected, was being very careful with him, and Porthos derived considerable pleasure just from watching his intent expression.

"How do you want to do this?" Athos asked quietly, once he judged Porthos ready to take more than his fingers. "It would probably be more comfortable for you to lie on your front, or kneel?" 

Porthos shook his head. "I'd rather be able to see you, if that's possible?"

Athos smiled at him. "Yes. Yes, that's possible."

Porthos grinned. "I'm in your hands. Literally. Just tell me what to do, and I'll do it."

When Athos finally took him, Porthos could tell his eyes were widening comically in surprise, and wished he'd been able to retain a more dignified expression - if that was even possible, given he was lying on his back with his knees in the air in the first place. But the feeling of Athos' hard, slick cock pushing slowly inside him was like nothing he'd expected, and he felt the breath go out of him in a rush. 

Lightheaded and sensitised, he could do nothing but nod jerkily to Athos' quietly solicitous enquiry as to his wellbeing, and hope that his incoherent gasping was correctly interpreted as wholehearted approval. Certainly Athos continued with what he was doing, and soon Porthos had whole new worlds of experience and sensation opening up with every passing second.

Athos was moving inside him, a thick, hard pressure thrusting between his legs and into what felt like the core of his being, that made him see stars and forget how to breathe. All Porthos could do was hang on for the ride and try and bite down on the involuntary noises he was making. He felt there was nothing wrong with the occasional manly groan, but every time Athos reached the deepest point inside him Porthos let out something a lot closer to a whimper, and he was faintly embarrassed about it.

Porthos' own cock was trapped between them, and the friction of Athos moving against him was adding to the deliciously aching tension building inside. Athos had slowly worked up from the gentlest of movements to a rhythmic, pounding stroke until Porthos was pinned to the bed in helpless, blissed out ecstasy.

They came within half a minute of each other, Porthos first with a strangled string of expletives and Athos shortly afterwards, more quietly but no less intense. They disentangled themselves and Athos cleaned them both up as Porthos lay sprawled in the rumpled sheets with a dopey smile on his face.

"I take it you approved of that?" Athos asked, stroking a fond hand over Porthos' chest and looking amused. 

Porthos nodded vigorously. "It was - incredible. Amazing. Indecently so." He rolled onto his side and looked at Athos, eager to know if he was of the same mind regarding this exciting new pursuit. "Do you like it like that too?"

Athos flushed a little, but nodded. "Yes, I enjoy both sides to it. Perhaps next time we could - switch about?"

"I'd like that," Porthos agreed enthusiastically, both pleased that Athos was clearly happy to do it again, and oddly touched that he would even consider letting Porthos fuck him. Not that Porthos had consciously considered what they were doing in terms of social structure, but neither would he have been surprised or bothered if Athos had only wanted to take the more dominant role in proceedings.

Athos settled the covers around them and Porthos wound an arm round him, pulling Athos into a warm embrace. They lay together, kissing lazily and talking in murmurs until the candle guttered out and they finally slept.

\--

Upon waking, the mild physical discomfort Porthos experienced in the nether regions was more than tempered by the discovery that Athos was still nestled against him. He woke him with feather-light kisses and a roving hand, so that by the time Athos achieved full consciousness he also had a raging erection to match the one Porthos had woken up with.

With Porthos reluctantly admitting he was too sore for a reprise of the previous night, they simply rutted against each other in a show of basic need, until both had spilled hotly across the other's belly and they were panting and laughing in equal measure.

Athos flopped back against the pillows, pushing damp hair out of his eyes. "We should probably get up. Celine will think we've both been stricken with fever at this rate."

"We kind've have," Porthos grinned, rolling over and kissing him again. He didn't think he would ever tire of this, and would quite happily have spent the entire day in bed. Athos though, had other plans, and eventually they dragged themselves apart long enough to wash and dress.

Downstairs, Celine gave them both an arch look as they shuffled into the kitchen, hours late for breakfast. Athos helped himself to coffee from the pot keeping warm on the range, and Porthos poked dubiously at the porridge congealing in a bowl on the table.

Celine folded her arms, regarding them both with a certain stern amusement. "Late night, was it? Thought I heard a lot of coming and going."

"Rather more of one than the other," Porthos murmured wickedly, and Athos choked on his coffee.

Celine rolled her eyes. "I don't want to know."

"Part of it might interest you," said Athos, recovering himself somewhat. "We persuaded the Comte de Rochefort to give back the money I paid him."

"Persuaded?" Celine asked, amused. "Just like that, eh?"

"He was very co-operative," Athos agreed.

"Knew it was you, did he?"

"God, I hope not." Athos gave a short laugh. "No, I'm afraid he encountered two very rough fellows on the way home." 

"Lucky he didn't shoot you," Celine remarked, her opinion of Rochefort's behaviour being somewhat lower than that of a weasel.

"One on one I might not have risked it," Athos admitted. "But while Rochefort's - not a coward exactly, he is very careful of his own skin, and with two of us I though we'd be safe enough. And as it turned out was carrying rather more than we expected." He settled into a seat by the range and nodded to Porthos. "I'll let you continue from here. It's more your story than mine after that."

Rather embarrassed, Porthos related the events that had taken place after Athos had gone to bed, and his reasoning behind it all. He was faintly worried Celine would think he'd been forcing his opinions in where they weren't welcome, or be annoyed he'd given away money that would at least in part have gone to her, but to his surprise and relief she not only nodded approval but gave him an unexpected hug.

"That was so sweet of you," Celine told him, and Porthos remembered that she had probably come from beginnings not far different from his own. 

Celine was so taken with the act of generosity that she volunteered to make a fresh batch of porridge, and Porthos brightened. 

"They won't tell on you will they?" Celine asked, as a worrisome thought occurred to her. "I mean - I'm not saying it was wrong, but if too many people get to know where the money came from?"

Porthos glanced at Athos, and shook his head with a smirk. "Don't worry, I got all thoughts of being the town hero soundly knocked out of me head. I gave it to an old - acquaintance of mine. She'll see it gets to where it needs to go, and never tell where it came from."

"An old acquaintance, eh?" Athos asked, looking up enquiringly. This was the first he'd heard of exactly what arrangements Porthos had made for the money's distribution. Porthos just nodded a little uncomfortably, unwilling to expand.

"Didn't ask about your past involvements, did I?"

"Fair point. I withdraw the question." Athos smiled equably. "You trust her?"

"Yeah. And - she'll keep the money safe. If Rochefort has an uncharacteristic fit of altruism and doesn't demand they pay up again, you can have it back after all."

Athos looked abruptly stricken. "You think I would be so hard as to ask for it back?" he asked.

Porthos shrugged. "I'm just saying. If you did."

"Hardly behaviour becoming of a gentleman, to ask for the return of a gift," Athos murmured. "If they're as poorly off as you say, then let them keep it regardless."

Porthos marched over and kissed him full on the lips with an air of triumph. "I said you were a good man," he declared smugly.

Athos gave a weakly protesting laugh. "Between you and Celine, I seem to have a lot to live up to."

\--

A couple of days later Porthos entered the kitchen to find Athos studying a slip of card between his fingers. 

"What you got there?"

Athos looked up and tapped the card thoughtfully against the table. "The invitation Rochefort gave me. To his birthday celebrations at the weekend."

"You're surely not thinking of going!" Porthos exclaimed. 

"I was considering it, actually."

Even Celine looked over in surprise at that. "You hate parties!"

Athos shrugged. "I know. I was seeing it more as a chance to see what the great and good of the neighbourhood are wearing this season in the way of sparkles," he said. "That might more properly very shortly belong to me." He looked up at Porthos with a careless smile. "Fancy it? I'll need a footman."

Porthos' response to this was more muted than Athos had expected, he just stared at him with a rather wooden expression for a second, before mumbling assent.

"Yeah. Whatever you want. Excuse me, I've got work to do." He let himself out of the door into the yard and banged it behind him.

Athos looked up at Celine in confusion, only to discover she was glaring at him as well. "What?"

"You prick."

Athos got to his feet, feeling confused and somewhat battered. "What? What did I say?"

Celine put her hands on her hips. "So he's good enough for your bed, but as soon as you need a servant again it's different?"

"What? No. No, I didn't mean - " Athos stared at her in distress. "That's not how I meant it at all."

Faced with Athos' mournful and contrite expression, Celine relented a little and softened her tone. "Well that's how it sounded." Athos was still standing there at a loss, and she gave him an impatient push. "Well go after him then!"

"What? Oh. Yes. Yes, of course." Athos hesitated then ducked out of the door, deciding that facing up to an awkward conversation with Porthos was still better than Celine's wrath.

Porthos was on the far side of the yard, chopping logs for firewood with a vigour that suggested a definite degree of anger. Athos made his way over and stopped at a safe distance to watch for a while. Porthos obviously knew he was there, but kept going for a considerable time and Athos didn't interrupt, figuring it was best to let him work it out of his system before attempting reconciliation. He didn't think Porthos was the type to chuck an axe at him, but you could never be sure.

"Nice wrist action," Athos murmured when Porthos eventually stopped for breath.

Porthos finally looked directly at him, although it was more than half a glare.

"Yeah, well. Figured I'd better do something useful. Would hate to be accused of not earning my wages."

Athos sighed. "Porthos, what I said - I didn't mean it the way it sounded. The invitation was for me alone with no mention of a guest, but no-one would be surprised if I arrived with a footman. It was a way of getting you in, that's all. To look around with me, for the same purpose. I meant no offence. I'm sorry."

Some of the tension eased out of Porthos' shoulders, and he nodded slowly, acutely aware that it was hardly appropriate for a man of Athos' standing to be apologising to him and that his own sulky behaviour had in itself been taking a huge liberty in assuming Athos would not react angrily. The whole thing made his head hurt.

"Maybe you were right though," Porthos said quietly. "I am your servant, after all."

"Porthos - "

"No, let me finish. I'm not your social equal Athos, and I never can be, no matter how much you like to pretend. I'm your servant and you're my employer, and I don't think it would do either of us any good to forget that. My position here - it's already far higher than anything I ever dreamed I'd achieve in life. You've given me that, and you have no idea how grateful I am. But blurring things any further - I think it's a mistake. Let's keep a structure to it, eh? It lets me know where I stand."

"Whatever makes you happy," Athos agreed reluctantly. "I'm sorry if I've ever made you feel in any way uncomfortable."

Porthos took in his rather sad expression, and felt a rush of guilt that he'd thrown Athos' apology back in his face. He seized Athos' hands and stared at him earnestly. 

" _You_ make me happy," he insisted, and pulled Athos into a kiss. Athos gave a tiny groan of relief at the realisation Porthos still meant their liaison to continue and kissed him back ardently.

Porthos held him in his arms, despite his words all thoughts of social standing temporarily forgotten. He realised with faint surprise that while day to day life might be a different proposition, between the sheets Athos truly had succeeded in making him feel equal. There was no power play between them when it came to the bedroom, no sense of obligation or distinction of class. Then they were just two men who wanted each other, took pleasure from each other, and maybe that, in the end, was enough. 

Behind them Celine appeared in the kitchen doorway, having decided it might be an idea to check they weren't at each other's throats. Seeing them locked in an embrace of an entirely different kind she withdrew again, rolling her eyes. It was clearly going to be that sort of week.

\--

The night before the ball, Athos and Celine were to be found in the kitchen, waiting in some impatience for Porthos to come down. As all his clothing had been more suited to outdoor work, he had been measured for a more fitting outfit to wear to the festivities and it had been delivered that afternoon.

Finally, his tread was to be heard on the stair, and the door creaked open a little way.

"Are you sure about this?" he muttered.

"Oh come in, do, and stop your bellyaching," Athos called out gleefully. 

"Yes, don't be shy," Celine added, perched on the kitchen table and drumming her heels against the leg.

Porthos came right in, acutely conscious of their eyes on him, and that he'd never worn such a fine outfit in all his life. It was, he had to admit, tailored to perfection and while some liveries were hideously garish, Athos had chosen a simple combination of black and dark green, enlivened by a considerable number of very shiny buttons. 

Athos took him in from head to toe, and was almost lost for words. "Wow."

Porthos shuffled uncomfortably. "I look like a prize plum," he muttered.

"You look very dashing," Celine told him, and he gave her a grateful smile.

"It's a bit tight around the unmentionables," Porthos muttered, attempting not very subtly to loosen a constricting fold of cloth and making Celine avert her eyes whilst choking with scandalised laughter.

"I like it," Athos pronounced, and Porthos snorted.

"You would." He hesitated. "Will I do?" he added uncertainly. Athos got to his feet, and took Porthos' hands in his.

"I can't speak for anyone else, but I know where my eyes will be all night," he murmured, kissing Porthos' knuckles gallantly. 

Porthos laughed, both flattered and relieved. "I'd better take it off again," he said, holding Athos' gaze meaningfully. "Wouldn't want it to get creased." He gave a slight bow to Celine who was watching them both with bright-eyed amusement, and retreated out of the door.

Athos cleared his throat. "I'd, er. Better go and see if he needs any assistance. Those breeches were rather tight, after all. He might need some help getting them off."

"Wouldn't bet on it," Celine retorted. But Athos had already gone.

\--

The coach pulled up on the immaculate gravel circle outside Rochefort's grand house and Porthos helped Athos down, still not entirely sure whether he was playing a part or showing genuine deference, but nonetheless heartened by the feel of Athos' gloved hand in his own and the quick and wicked smile he received.

The coach and horses were given into the care of smartly liveried grooms and they prepared to enter the house. The daylight was fading, and burning torches flared dramatically either side of the entrance. The sound of delicate music and raucous conversation floated out towards them, and everywhere servants bustled with an intimidating air of self-importance that made Porthos feel suddenly and massively inadequate.

Athos turned to him, sensing his hesitation. "Everything alright?" he asked discreetly.

Porthos nodded, but still hung back, debating whether to share his concerns with Athos. "It's just - I've never been anywhere like this," he muttered finally. "Aren't you afraid I'll show you up?"

Athos moved a pace closer and laid a reassuring hand on his arm. "I care little for the good opinion of any of the people in there," he said quietly. "And a great deal more for yours. As far as I'm concerned you could plant yourself face first in the buffet and still not embarrass me." He smiled. "Although if you _could_ refrain from doing that, we'll probably draw less attention."

Porthos relaxed a little, nodding gratefully. "You realise Rochefort probably won't be thrilled to see me?" he couldn't help warning. Athos' smile just widened.

"Good."

Inside it was more opulent than anything Porthos had ever seen, and he stared round open-mouthed at the decorations. Huge floral displays competed for his attention with mounds of exotic fruit, streamers, blazing candelabra and even carved ice sculptures.

Remembering his place, Porthos hastily assumed a more sober expression and followed Athos into the throng.

"It's incredible," he whispered, unsure as to whether it was proper to address Athos directly, or if he was supposed to be seen and not heard. Athos might not care for appearances, but Porthos found he did.

Athos glanced at him and smirked. "It's vulgar. Rochefort is many things, but a man of taste is not one of them," he murmured back.

A cold-eyed butler had announced Athos' arrival to the room, and Porthos couldn't help notice the stir this produced amongst the gathered guests. He wondered exactly how long it had been since Athos had last deigned to attend one of these gatherings, and straightened his back, determined to present a good account of himself. 

Looking around, Porthos found that despite Athos' apparent disregard for the nuances of society or fashion, the uniform he'd had made for Porthos was exactly right for the setting, making him one of the smartest and most elegantly dressed of the hovering attendants, while not standing out so much that it made him uncomfortable.

Athos himself was dressed simply and smartly, beard neatly trimmed and his hair tied back with a black ribbon. Porthos had the overwhelming urge to drag him behind a stand of potted palms and make him all scruffy and dishevelled again, but contented himself with walking sedately behind him, his eyes fixed on Athos' arse.

Distracted as he was, it came as something of a shock to Porthos to hear Rochefort's grating drawl suddenly addressing Athos from the crowd and he stiffened, keeping his head down and hoping Rochefort might not notice him.

"My dear Comte! How good of you to attend." Rochefort's eyes gleamed in the sure and certain knowledge that regardless of what else happened, the fact it had been _his_ ball that had lured the reclusive la Fère out of seclusion would make it the most talked about event of the season so far.

"How could I resist?" said Athos dryly, giving a precisely correct bow of acknowledgement. "And may I say you have exceeded all my expectations with such a lavish display."

"How kind." It was at this point Rochefort caught sight of the unfortunate Porthos, and his nose wrinkled as if assailed by an unpleasant smell. Politeness dictated he could hardly object to Athos' choice of footman, but his expression said it all.

Porthos returned his baleful gaze with an insouciant smile that made Rochefort turn an interesting shade of purple. Rochefort murmured a few more insincere pleasantries to Athos and drifted back into the crowd with the excuse that he couldn't be seen to neglect his other guests.

"Probably gone to warn his butler to count the spoons," Porthos muttered, and was gratified by Athos' surprised snort of laughter.

Remembering why they were there, Porthos scanned the room with interest, eyes lighting on so much gold and jewellery that it made his fingers itch. His gaze moved from one fine lady's necklace to the young man next to her in a soldier's uniform, and he froze.

"Athos!" he hissed.

"Yes?" Athos looked round, having somehow acquired a glass of something with bubbles in it. 

"Over there."

Athos looked in the direction of Porthos' none-too-subtle jerk of the head and nodded.

"Oh, d'Artagnan. Yes."

He sounded less than surprised and Porthos narrowed his eyes at him. "Did you know he'd be here?"

Athos shrugged. "Not for certain, but it was a fairly safe bet. He is the current captain of the castle garrison, after all. Rochefort was hardly likely not to invite him."

Porthos blinked. "You _know_ him?"

"We were in the army together. Briefly," Athos admitted. "Same regiment."

Porthos stared at him, hardly knowing what to be most indignant about first, the fact Athos hadn't bothered to share any of this with him before, or the possible ramifications.

"Same 'regiment' eh? Does that mean what I think it means?" Porthos demanded in an undertone.

Athos gave him an amused smile. "I can't imagine what you think it means," he said lightly. 

Porthos growled unhappily, as Athos downed his drink and lifted another glass from a passing tray. "Tell me you're not jealous?" Athos teased.

"Of that little squirt? No chance." Porthos glowered in d'Artagnan's general direction, taking in his well-cut uniform and young handsome face. He wavered. "Do I have cause to be?" he muttered, hating himself for having to ask.

Athos took pity on him. "No," he said softly. "And for the record, I never went there."

Porthos smiled at him in surprise, and would have replied but they were both interrupted by a softly cultured voice behind them.

"Well, look what the cat dragged in." 

Porthos stared in astonishment to find such a fine lady was the one to be so insulting, but she was smiling and with a jolt he realised Athos was smiling back, a lot more sincerely than he had been to Rochefort.

"Ninon." He bent to kiss her hand, and her smile widened, although there was an amused superiority about it that immediately put Porthos' back up.

"Athos. How unusual to see you out and about. Is it a blue moon?"

"Perhaps I could go no longer without seeing your beauty once again," Athos replied smoothly, and she went up marginally in Porthos' estimation by replying with a distinctly unladylike snort of laughter.

"You flatter me."

"I hope you are no worse the wear for your recent ordeal?" Athos enquired solicitously, and Porthos got a second shock, as he finally placed her voice. There'd been a nagging familiarity about it, and now he realised this must be the Comtesse de Larroque. His jealousy regarding Athos' attention eased somewhat at the recollection Athos had sucked him off whilst he'd been wearing her pearls and tiara. 

Ninon frowned prettily. "What ordeal is this, that you speak of?"

"I had heard you were beset by highwaymen," Athos murmured. "Was I misled? I do hope so."

"Not at all, although I am curious to know where you heard such a thing, as I have spoken to no one of what happened."

Porthos' heart thumped in his chest and he wondered what the hell to do, but Athos was still holding her hand and smiling charmingly.

"Can you vouch as strongly for your coachman?" Athos wondered vaguely. "Inveterate gossips, the lot of them."

Ninon inclined her head and smiled at him assessingly. "Yes, perhaps there you have it. I must reprimand him. And now, you owe me a dance, I think."

"I do?" 

"Oh yes. I'm certain of it." 

Athos accepted his fate and handed his empty glass to Porthos, allowing Ninon to lead him out to the other dancers. Porthos watched them move easily across the floor, trying not to resent what a pretty couple they made. He was certain Athos' interest in her extended no further than the exceptional set of diamonds around her throat, but he still felt a grudging twinge of envy. 

More familiar voices close by drew his attention away from the dance and he realised with a nervous thrill that d'Artagnan's group had drifted closer. 

"That woman has no sense of propriety," d'Artagnan was saying in a disapproving tone, and following the line of his gaze Porthos realised he was talking about Ninon. "Asking men to dance without waiting to be invited indeed."

To Porthos' amusement this earned him a hearty slap on the arm from his wife.

"Why should she have to wait?" Constance demanded. "If we all hung around meekly until you men finally tire of talking about gunpowder and politics, we'd be dead of boredom before we got a single dance."

Porthos couldn't help the quiet laugh that escaped him, but unfortunately d'Artagnan heard it and looked up sharply.

"You there! You find something amusing?"

"No sir. My apologies." Porthos looked down submissively, conscious of Athos' repeated instruction not to draw attention to them and repressing the urge to shove the little bastard into the nearby bowl of punch. 

But d'Artagnan wasn't to be dissuaded, and Porthos' heart sank as he walked over.

"What's your name? Whom do you serve?" d'Artagnan demanded crisply, ignoring Constance's attempts to pull him away.

Porthos sighed. "My name is Porthos du Vallon. I am footman to the Comte de la Fère," he said pleasantly.

Constance brightened. "Athos? Is he here? Was that him with Ninon?" She dug d’Artagnan in the ribs. "He'll dance with me, even if you won't."

D'Artagnan wasn't to be distracted even by the mention of Athos, although it had briefly given him pause. He was looking at Porthos entirely too sharply for his liking. 

"Don't see many fellows of your hue around here," he said thoughtfully.

"D'Artagnan!" Constance exclaimed, horrified at her husband's bald statement. 

Porthos straightened up and stared back at him implacably. "More of us about than you'd think," he retorted. "It's just we tend to be invisible to gentlemen of your - _station_."

"How dare you!" d'Artagnan bristled at the insulting tone Porthos had managed to imbue the last word with.

"Is there a problem?" Athos materialised from the crowd at d'Artagnan's side, to Porthos' relief without the Comtesse. 

"Your man forgets himself," d'Artagnan snapped.

"Porthos?" Athos raised an enquiring eyebrow, keeping his tone neutral to pacify d'Artagnan, but ready to back Porthos if it became necessary. Porthos though, swallowed down his indignant response in favour of not making a scene.

"I'm sorry if I caused offence," he said quietly. "I meant no disrespect."

To his surprise, Constance came to his rescue. "It was d'Artagnan's fault anyway," she declared breezily. "He just can't stop himself picking fights. Do you know he fought three duels in the first week we were here? And he's supposed to be in charge!" 

Athos laughed and everyone relaxed as the situation defused, although d'Artagnan was still watching Porthos with a speculative look.

"I'm sorry if I appeared rude," d'Artagnan said to Porthos. "No hard feelings, eh?"

"Not at all," Porthos agreed, taken aback by this abrupt change of heart.

"Splendid!" D'Artagnan slapped him cheerfully on his left arm, and Porthos couldn't stop the involuntary yelp of pain, clutching himself to stave off the sickening wave of agony.

D'Artagnan frowned. "Oh, I'm sorry. Your arm - you're injured?"

Porthos stared at him, mind going blank in panic. Athos stepped in with a sad shake of his head. "His own fault, he was kicked by a horse. Careless, and I told him so."

D'Artagnan switched his gaze to Athos. "Is that what he said?"

"You have reason to doubt me?" 

D'Artagnan looked away first. "No. No, of course not. Come, Constance, we are taking up far too much of Athos' time. And you wanted to dance, I believe?" He took her hand and bowed to Athos, walking away with a light grace.

"He suspects," Porthos said quietly.

Athos shook his head. "He can prove nothing."

"Jumped up little prick." 

Athos looked amused. "You can hardly hold it against him for wanting to uphold the law."

Porthos gave him a hard look. "You actually like him don't you?"

"Yes. As it happens. If things had been different, perhaps we could have been friends." Athos turned back to Porthos and smiled. "As it is, I'm entirely happy to rob him blind. Shall we go? I think I've seen enough here."

"What about Larroque?"

"What about her?"

"I get the impression she suspects you as much as d'Artagnan does me." 

Athos smiled faintly. "Yes. I've never quite been able to figure out whether she knows it's me or not."

Porthos frowned. "Why, how many times have you robbed her?"

Athos' eyes gleamed with amusement. 

"Counting the time with you - four."

They lingered a while longer, Athos conscious that to leave too precipitately after the run-in with d'Artagnan might look suspicious. He made the rounds of the people he knew, to Porthos' amusement deftly fending off approaches from more than one eligible young lady eager to get him to dance.

"Looks like you're the hottest prize in town," Porthos smirked as they finally made their escape.

"I fear I would be a sore disappointment to them," Athos said, laughing quietly. "Take me home, would you? The night is yet young, and I feel we could be making better use of it on our own."

Porthos heartily agreed with this and what it implied, and was soon driving them back through the rutted lanes at a fast lick.

Inside the coach, Athos found his mind was fixed not on the array of precious stones and their hopefully soon to be ex-owners that he'd just left behind, but on the way Porthos had looked in his uniform, and more specifically, the way he would look out of it.

The rhythmic bouncing of the carriage springs was doing nothing to dissuade his increasing problem, and as soon as Athos judged them to be safely back on his own land, he banged on the roof of the coach. It rattled to a halt a few yards down the track, and swayed as Porthos leaped down.

"Is everything all right?" Porthos asked, relieved to find Athos leaning in the open carriage window and looking unconcerned.

"Yes. But I was getting lonely back here on my own," Athos smiled.

Porthos snorted and swaggered closer. "You want to be careful," he said. "These are dangerous parts, so I'm told. Stopping along the roads round here - all sorts of horrible things could happen to a young man of quality."

"Only if he's _very_ lucky," Athos murmured, holding Porthos' gaze in delight.

Porthos yanked open the carriage door and heaved himself inside, pushing Athos backwards to sprawl on the seat. Porthos latched the door behind him and pulled down the blind. The likelihood of anyone actually coming past was extremely slim, but the simple action made Athos catch his breath at the things it promised.

He'd already shed his coat, and now stretched out along the padded seat, half teasing invitation, half mask of arrogance. "Such behaviour," he tutted, looking up at Porthos from beneath lowered eyelashes. "I should have you whipped."

Porthos gave him a feral grin. "It's not _my_ behaviour that's questionable," he said in a low, dangerous voice that made Athos want to squirm with desire. "Look at you. Panting like a bitch on heat. I should put you over my knee, teach you a lesson."

"I'd like to see you try."

"I bet you would." Porthos braced himself with one hand on the roof of the coach, and shoved one knee between Athos' thighs, forcing his legs wider apart. He bent over and tore away the silk scarf from Athos' throat, winding it around his hand. 

"I should gag you," he said slowly. "Or blindfold you perhaps. That way I can still hear you beg."

Athos visibly swallowed, but the state of his crotch left Porthos in little doubt it was from arousal rather than nerves. His own cock felt like a bar of hot iron and he let one hand rub deliberately along the bulge of his erection, knowing the tightness of his breeches exaggerated the effect.

Athos' fingers were splayed about his bare throat, his shirt hanging just open enough for Porthos to make out the key hanging against his chest. Porthos shrugged off his cloak and let it fall to the floor of the coach before unfastening his livery jacket, one slow button at a time. 

Athos never took his eyes off him, breath coming faster with every second until he cracked and slid down in the seat to press his groin up against Porthos' knee.

"Want some of this do you?" Porthos asked, unfastening his breeches with agonising slowness and taking out his cock. Athos licked his lips deliberately, and smirked when Porthos groaned at the sight. 

Porthos started pushing impatiently through the circle of his fingers, too worked up to tease any longer and hoping that Athos would either suck or wank him off. 

Athos sat up and beckoned him closer. "Take me," he breathed, winding his arms around Porthos and sliding forward on the cushion until Porthos' stiff cock was pressed against his bare chest. 

Porthos groaned, pushing against him, drawing the head of his cock along the line of Athos' collarbone. "Are you sure?" he rasped, eager and willing to do as Athos wanted but equally concerned he might hurt him. Porthos had taken him once already, a couple of nights earlier, but then it had been a long slow build up, and they had no access to Athos' cabinet of enticing possibilities out here.

"I'm sure." Athos was unlacing his own breeches, fingers made clumsy with haste. "Take me. Fuck me." He shoved his clothing down and pulled Porthos into a biting kiss. "Use me. Hurt me if you want," he breathed against Porthos' mouth. "I need you. And hard."

Porthos practically came on the spot, and had to grip himself severely with one hand. With the other he hauled Athos up and spun him round, bending him over the seat and tearing his garments further down out of the way. 

"Athos?" he panted, part of him still half frightened that they were taking the game too far.

"Please," Athos begged, his voice sounding just as wrecked. "I'm yours. I mean it. Fuck me."

Twice Porthos spat vigorously into his hand and tried to wet himself as best he could, before nudging forward between Athos' cheeks. He watched Athos stretch around him as he thrust inside and bit down hard on his lip, forcing himself to take it slowly. 

Athos moaned, bracing himself against the seat and gasping encouragements. Porthos pushed all the way in, heart racing with excitement. This felt completely different from the first time they'd done this, more dangerous, illicit, and twenty times more intense.

Porthos started thrusting in and out, gripping Athos around the hips and trusting him to tell him if it was too much. For a while there was no sound but their harsh breathing and the faint squeak of the carriage floorboards, until Porthos misjudged it and his cock slipped all the way out, whereupon he only just managed not to topple over onto Athos.

He swore in embarrassment, but Athos wriggled around and kissed him with a breathless laugh.

"Sit down," Athos murmured, and when Porthos just looked at him in confusion, guided Porthos to take a seat on the cushions and straddled his lap. "Hold still," he instructed, and while Porthos gripped his cock and stared at him in wide-eyed astonishment, Athos lowered himself down onto it with a hiss of pleasure.

"Fuck." Athos rested his forehead against Porthos' for a second, catching his breath.

"You can say that again," Porthos said tightly, and they both laughed in faint amazement at what they were doing. After a second Athos started to move, lifting himself up and sinking down again, fucking himself steadily on Porthos' rigid cock.

Porthos very quickly decided this way round of doing things was his new favourite thing in the world, not only because he was being driven slowly, madly out of his mind by the tight heat working his cock, but he could now both kiss Athos and wrap a fist around his own bouncing erection at the same time.

They fucked each other hard and fast, both desperate to come while never wanting it to end. Porthos tugged the ribbon out of Athos' hair and buried his hand in the tangle of it, pulling him down for deep, searching kisses that were every bit as filthy as the sex.

Porthos came first, the sensations finally overwhelming him until he climaxed with a loud and throaty groan, shooting his load into Athos' rocking body. It was enough to finish Athos, who promptly let fly all over the lace of Porthos' shirt, his cries of completion even louder than Porthos' had been.

They collapsed against each other, shaking with reaction and holding each other fiercely tight, for a moment too overcome for Athos to even manage lifting himself off. 

Eventually they sorted themselves out, cleaning each other up as best they could and straightening their clothing. 

"Best be getting home," Porthos sighed, hauling himself up reluctantly. Athos caught his hand, and for a second pulled him back.

"Thank you," Athos whispered, gazing up at him with a soft intensity that made Porthos' heart hurt strangely.

Porthos cleared his throat, and managed a shaky smile. "Any time," he promised, squeezing Athos' hands with all the emotion he couldn't put into words.

Driving the rest to the way back to the house, Porthos was glad of the cold night air on his face. He felt like he needed to sober up, despite the fact he hadn't been drinking, and had to tell himself over and over that just because Athos liked having sex with him didn't mean there was any more to it. Athos wasn't just a gentleman, he was nobility, and Porthos was - well, Porthos. He had to remember that, and remember their respective positions. No matter how he might be starting to feel, it didn't mean Athos felt the same, and even if he did nothing could ever come of it.

There was a light burning in the hallway when they entered the house, and more spilling from under the kitchen door.

"Looks like Celine is still up," said Athos as they barred the main door behind them. "I'll go and let her know we're back safe."

Porthos nodded. "I'd better go and change. Besides, this uniform is all very smart, but it's agony to sit down in."

Athos smirked. "Special design. Stops you slacking."

Porthos snaked an arm around Athos' waist and pushed him back against the wall, kissing him roughly. "Show you how hard I can work shall I?" he growled. "See which one of us has trouble sitting down then?"

Laughing, Athos extricated himself and kissed Porthos again as he backed away towards the kitchen. "I'll see you in a while."

Celine jumped up as he came in, and promptly subjected him to a barrage of questions as he poured himself some wine.

"Were the ladies all very beautiful?" she asked wistfully, once Athos had fielded questions on the food, decorations, guestlist and music.

"Not as beautiful as you," Athos smiled, and she frowned at him, flushing self-consciously.

"Hold your noise. What would you know about it anyway?"

"Just because my tastes lie elsewhere doesn't mean I can't appreciate beauty," Athos pointed out. "Besides, surely you should assume me _more_ honest, given that I can presumably be trusted not to be trying to get into your petticoats?"

She hiccupped with laughter then, and slapped him on the arm. "I meant their dresses, anyway."

"Like a cloud of golden butterflies."

" _Very_ poetic. Doesn't tell me anything though. What styles, what hats, what materials?"

Athos shrugged helplessly. "They were dresses. That was about where my attention ended."

Celine sighed. "Hopeless. Men never report on the important things." She looked at him. "Did you dance?"

"Only when it proved inescapable."

"I should like to dance." She hummed softly, swaying a little, and Athos took her hand.

"Then you shall."

Celine giggled, letting him twirl her around the kitchen floor. 

They were on their third circuit when the door opened and Porthos came in. Celine gasped and would have pulled away guiltily, but Athos kept hold of her hand, waiting calmly for Porthos' reaction.

To Celine's relief and Athos' satisfaction, Porthos just smiled when he saw what they were doing. 

"Don't stop on my account," he offered, and when they resumed their slow procession around the floor, Porthos dragged the heavy kitchen table out of the way to give them more room to dance. 

Helping himself to the wine Porthos hauled himself up to sit on the table, watching their progress with tolerant amusement. Porthos had discovered at the ball that he liked to watch Athos dance, and now he could stare unashamedly without fear of criticism.

After a while the twirling couple came to a standstill and Athos picked up his glass in some relief. "Porthos, would you care to cut in?" he offered with a smile.

Porthos grinned, but hesitated. "Not sure I'd know the steps. Besides, I prefer something with a bit more life to it."

"Let's show him then," Celine declared, and grabbed Porthos' hand. To Athos' considerable entertainment they proceeded to perform a lively reel around the kitchen, fetching up panting and laughing back at the table some time later to hearty applause from Athos.

With the wine flowing, it was late when the three finally made their way to bed. Athos had allowed himself to be dragged back into the dancing, and even danced with Porthos much to Celine's delighted hilarity.

Athos helped Celine to her chamber, both of them swaying now from more than the dancing, and quietly closed the door.

"Will you come and sleep with me?" he asked Porthos, who was still loitering in the passage outside. 

"If you'd like?" Porthos smiled hopefully at him. They were both far too drunk and tired by now to attempt any follow-up to the events in the coach, but he could think of nothing nicer than to settle down to sleep with Athos in his arms. 

"I'd like," said Athos softly and taking his hand, lead Porthos down the hall to his room.

\--


	4. Chapter 4

Whilst Porthos was eager to make good on their new information concerning the neighbourhood's more portable wealth, Athos cautioned against striking too often or to a discernable pattern, and for a couple of weeks things were peaceful about the house.

One day though, returning from one of their sporadic trips into town for supplies, both Athos and Porthos brought news back with them.

"Wait till you hear this," Porthos declared, dumping a sack of flour onto the kitchen table in some relief, and immediately being directed by Celine to move it into the pantry. He'd been burning to share his information ever since they'd reconvened at the coaching inn, but with Athos and Celine riding inside the carriage while he drove the horses, this was the first chance he'd had.

"I've got news too," Athos smirked, not wanting to be left out. "And I think you'll like it."

Porthos looked pleading, and Athos waved a magnanimous hand at him to go first with a huff of laughter. Porthos shifted the sack down to the floor and sat on it.

"There's talk of it in all the taverns - and, er, in the market," Porthos added, moving on hastily before Athos could ask how he knew what the topic of conversation in the public houses was. "An Italian princess, coming here!"

"Why would someone like that want to stay in this dump?" Celine asked. "The town, I meant," she added at a look of mock hurt from Athos. "Obviously."

"Obviously." He smiled. "Go on Porthos."

"Seems she's staying overnight at Rochefort's pile, on her way to the capital." He grinned. "What do you say?"

Athos shrugged. "Well, it's bound to be more comfortable than staying at the castle. However dubious the decor."

"No you pillock, I mean we should hold her up! A princess? She's got to be carrying some serious jewellery, right?"

Athos looked less than keen. "She's also bound to be well guarded. I don't fancy pitting our two pistols against a detachment of Italian soldiers."

Porthos shook his head impatiently. "Minimal escort. Apparently they figured it'd be safer if no one knew who she was - doesn't want to be noticed, see."

"Well that's clearly worked well," Celine said sarcastically. "Given that the whole town seems to know about it."

Porthos looked mutinous at being shot down, but surprisingly given his initial misgivings, Athos came to his rescue. 

"If she's really staying with Rochefort, he probably leaked it himself. No point in having someone of that calibre staying if people don't know about it. And he'd care little for her safety." He stroked his beard thoughtfully. "You might have a point."

Celine folded her arms. "Well I don't like it. It's too risky."

" _You_ don't have to come," Porthos pointed out, and she stuck her tongue out at him, making him laugh.

"Do you know when she's due?" Athos asked.

"Tomorrow night." Porthos looked hopefully at him. "What do you say?"

"These - tavern sources of yours. You trust them?"

Porthos nodded. "They wouldn't feed me duff information. Go on Athos. It's time we had some fun."

Athos raised an eyebrow. "I hadn't realised you were so bored."

"Oh, you know what I mean!" Porthos stood up and stretched. "Live a little."

Athos sighed. "Oh, very well." 

"Yes!" Porthos gave him a jubilant hug. "What was your news, anyway?"

"Oh, yes." Athos smiled. "D'Artagnan is moving on. Been posted somewhere else, should be gone in a matter of days. So if his presence is still making you uncomfortable, you should be able to rest easy from now on."

"That is good news!" Porthos crowed. "This is turning out to be an excellent week." He grinned at Celine. "Haven't you got any good news for me?"

Celine looked sourly at him. "I do know one thing you don't."

"What's that?"

She turned away. "You've got flour on your arse."

\--

"Did you make these yourself?" Porthos asked, swinging the black mask thoughtfully from his hand. They were dressed for business; armed and determined.

"Hmmn? No." Athos tied his own mask over his eyes and turned to leave the room. "A few stitches in a wound is about my limit when it comes to needlework."

Porthos hung back, still curious. "Who did then? Celine?"

"No. Are you coming or what?"

Porthos raised his eyebrows, more inquisitive than ever at Athos' unexpected evasiveness. 

"Come to that, why have you got two in the first place?" he asked. It was a question that had been nagging at him on and off for weeks. "Was one a spare?"

Athos sighed. "Does it matter?"

"Well it didn't, until you started looking shifty," Porthos grinned. "What aren't you telling me?"

There was a brief silence, and Porthos was just beginning to suspect that Athos was going to walk out without answering when he finally turned back to face him. Athos' expression was unexpectedly troubled and Porthos felt a stab of guilt that he'd made him look so sad.

"Serge made them," Athos admitted quietly. 

"Your old retainer?" Porthos hazarded, vaguely recalling that Serge had been replaced by the ill-fated Fabien.

"Yes. He used to ride out with me. He'd been with my family for decades. All my life, certainly." Athos paused. "After my parents died he _was_ my family. I suppose we took to robbery as a way of paying to keep the house from falling down around us."

"What happened to him?" Porthos asked curiously.

"He died." Athos pulled his cloak around his shoulders to disguise a shiver of unease. "Can we go now?"

Porthos wasn't to be distracted though. Athos never talked about his earlier life, and this was too good an opportunity to miss. "What happened? Just old age? He must have been getting on."

Athos was silent for a long moment, and Porthos wished he could see his expression beneath the mask and hat. 

"He was killed," Athos said softly. "Shot in the back by the coachman of a duchess we'd held up. We were careless, didn't check he wasn't armed. We'd been too successful I suppose, thought we were untouchable. Got over confident. Sloppy." 

Athos hung his head. "We managed to get away, but he died in my arms, in the woods. He's buried out there. I've never been able to face going back, but Celine takes flowers, sometimes. She thinks I don't know."

Porthos clasped his shoulder. "I'm sorry. I'm didn't mean to drag up painful memories," he said contritely. 

Athos pulled away roughly. "We're wasting time," he snapped. "If your curiosity is _quite_ satisfied?" He marched out, nearly knocking Celine off her feet as he swept through the door, banging it behind him hard enough to knock a picture off the wall.

"Who rattled his cage?" Celine asked in surprise.

Porthos looked uncomfortable. "I asked him about Serge," he admitted, wary of getting an earful from Celine as well, but she just sighed.

"Athos blames himself," she said. "As far as I can tell it wasn't his fault - from what he said at the time it seems they were riding away when it happened. But he's never forgiven himself. He's hung onto those bloody rubies all this time and all."

"He said they were too distinctive to sell," Porthos said in surprise. Celine shook her head.

"It's been over a year now. And besides, the kind of people he sells to wouldn't care. No, he keeps them as a reminder, even if he won't admit it."

"A reminder to be careful?"

"More like as a way of constantly punishing himself." Celine sighed. "Look, be careful tonight, won't you? Low-key or not, a princess isn't going to be totally unguarded."

Porthos patted her consolingly on the hand. "Don't worry. I'll look after him." 

He strode out after Athos, with Celine staring anxiously after him and muttering, "Athos can look after himself. I meant you."

\--

Three quarters of an hour later they were seated on horseback under dripping trees, not far from where they'd held up Rochefort, on the approach to his lands. Athos hadn't said a word the whole way there, and Porthos was starting to wonder if he was in the doghouse.

He shifted in the saddle, impatient for action but knowing they might have a long cold wait.

"Are we just being discreet and quiet," Porthos murmured after a while. "Or are you actually not speaking to me?"

Athos turned his head in Porthos' direction, a darker shadow against the pale trees, but said nothing. Porthos sighed.

"I'm sorry."

Athos turned away again. "What for?" 

"Pissing you off."

"You haven't." His voice cold and controlled, just slightly too tight to be convincingly disinterested.

Porthos blew out a breath. "Well if this is you being not pissed off, I'd hate to see you in a bad mood." He hesitated. "I'm sorry about Serge. You obviously cared about him."

"If it taught me one thing, it's that caring about anyone is a mistake," Athos said bitterly, then held up a hand to forestall Porthos' hurt reply. "Shhh. Listen, they're coming - or someone is. Come on, let's get this over with for God's sake, then we can go home." He urged his horse on and down the short bank into the roadway, Porthos following hurriedly on behind.

A carriage was approaching up the track, a single coachman driving the pair, accompanied by a lone outrider on another horse. Encouraged by this lack of force, Athos and Porthos moved in to block the road, drawing their pistols and declaring their intent.

Porthos, feeling that as Athos had handled the hold-up of Rochefort that it was his turn to have some fun, spurred his horse on towards the carriage. Athos let him do as he pleased, staying back and covering the two indignant and angry men at the front with a wary vigilance.

Bringing his horse round, Porthos edged closer to the window, careful not to give anyone inside a clear line of fire. Up to now there had been no sound from within, no voice demanding to know why they had stopped or what was going on, but a light was showing and he pulled the curtain to one side. 

As he bent to stick his head through the opening, Porthos' field of vision was blocked by someone inside rising to stand before him. His first impression was of a richly decorated dress and gleaming jewels and he grinned. 

"Now then your Highness, you just do as I say and everything will be alright." 

In answer, from the folds of the dress was produced an ugly looking pistol and as he looked up in astonishment Porthos found the face beneath the satin hood belonged not to a frightened foreign princess, but to d'Artagnan. 

Frozen in shock, for a second Porthos could only stare as d'Artagnan moved aside to reveal the coach was crammed full of soldiers, silent and tensed.

D'Artagnan thrust his pistol in Porthos' face and leaned down to whisper in his ear.

"Now you do exactly as _I_ say, and don't make a sound to alert your friend out there."

Porthos was barely conscious of making the decision. Whatever happened there was still a chance for Athos to get away, a chance that they didn't know his identity. He flung himself back from the window and turned with a roar of warning.

"It's a trap! Get out of here!"

He hauled the horse around, trying to make a break for it, conscious of Athos doing the same. Torn between two targets the outrider sentry aimed his pistol at Porthos, only to fall clutching his arm as Athos turned in his saddle and fired. 

Soldiers were pouring out of the coach now, stumbling over each other in their haste and for a second Porthos thought he'd make it. Then d'Artagnan leaned out over the jostling bodies and fired.

White heat flared in Porthos' back and he slumped forward over his horse's neck, slipping from the saddle to the muddy road as his arms abruptly lost all feeling. 

_"No!"_ Dimly Porthos registered that the scream of outrage had come from Athos, and blinked enough awareness back into his clanging head and blurring vision to see that Athos had checked his retreat and was about to plunge back into the knot of soldiers. 

Shots cracked around him, but the dark and the jinking of Athos' horse meant for the moment they all went wide.

With a supreme effort, Porthos raised his head. "Get out of here!" he bellowed. "Save yourself. _Go_!" 

Athos, caught in an agony of indecision, finally accepted that Porthos was right and to remain and fight would ultimately be suicide for both of them. His last sight before he fled into the trees was that of a soldier's boot connecting with Porthos' head, and Porthos crumpling unconscious into the mud.

The frantic ride through the dark woods that followed was nightmarish. With the soldiers at his heels Athos tore between the trees, branches whipping at his face and praying his horse didn't stumble. It was familiar ground though, for both of them, and with the soldiers only on foot, gradually the sounds of pursuit died away. 

It was a long, dismal journey home. Athos had purposely ridden away from his estate, holding his course until he was certain he was no longer followed, then circling round and riding back as fast as he could. He was conscious that when d'Artagnan identified Porthos, as he surely must, the soldiers could be on his doorstep at any moment. To be found away from home tonight would be incriminating in the extreme, although right now, heartsick and numb, he didn't much care what happened to him.

The sound of hooves brought Celine to the front door. Uneasy all evening, she'd been waiting anxiously for their return, and ran up as Athos dismounted.

"Where's Porthos?"

Athos just shook his head. "Help me with the stabling," he ordered brusquely. "Then get inside and douse all the lights. If anyone comes to the door, neither of us has been out all night, do you understand?"

"But - "

"Damn it woman, just do as I say for once in your goddamned life!"

Celine complied, white-faced and worried. There was an agonised tension to Athos' anger that spoke of the worst, and she helped him stable the horse in silence, trailing him into the house. The fact that he turned and bolted the door behind them suggested Porthos would not be following, and Celine desperately wished Athos would say something.

His chamber being at the back of the house, with the shutters closed Athos finally allowed Celine to light some candles. Still mindful of pursuit and regardless of Celine's presence he pulled off his riding boots and outerwear, finally collapsing onto his bed in just shirt and breeches.

With all his nervous energy finally seemingly expended, Celine gingerly came forward and sat down next to him.

"What happened?" she asked softly.

Athos slowly looked up at her, face haggard under his tousled hair, hands shaking in his lap.

"It was a trap all along," he said hoarsely. "There never was a princess. Just soldiers, everywhere."

"And Porthos?" 

"Captured. Wounded." Athos dropped his gaze, staring bleakly at the bedclothes.

_"Badly?"_

Athos took a shuddering breath. "I don't know. They shot him in the back. He was alive when I last saw him, but - I don't know." He let his head hang even lower in abject defeat and misery. "I shouldn't have left him," he said under his breath. "I should have stayed. He begged me to go, but I should have helped him. I should have gone _back_."

"There was nothing you could have done," Celine said quietly. "If there were that many of them. He wouldn't have wanted you to be caught as well."

"I should have made an attempt," Athos insisted wretchedly. "Even if I died trying."

"Be no good to him dead, would you?"

"I'm no good to him alive," Athos spat bitterly. "I involved him in this, it's my fault. All of it. They'll hang him for this Celine. They'll hang him." He voice cracked and he crumpled slowly forward to the bed, tears streaming down his cheeks. 

Celine gathered him to her and he lay with his head in her lap, sobbing silently into her skirts. She stroked his hair, absently crooning words of comfort and regret. 

\--

When Porthos came to, it felt like there was hammering in his head and a spear through his shoulder. He was lying on some kind of board, his tongue was glued to the roof of his mouth and his lips were crusted with dried spittle. Despite this, he became aware that gentle hands were moving on his back, and the prick of a needle was a sharp bright pain through the overwhelming ache.

 _Athos?_ He tried to form the name, but it came out as an unintelligible mumble and he swallowed thickly, trying to reassemble the shreds of his memory.

"Easy my friend. Nearly there." 

The voice was unfamiliar and definitely not Athos. Porthos was abruptly grateful he'd not spoken the name aloud, realising he could well have incriminated him.

"There we go. That should serve you for a while, at least." Porthos was aware of a bandage being wrapped around his shoulder and pinned. He struggled to sit up, finding he was lying on a stout wooden table in flickering candlelight. He seemed to be in someone's office, although the surroundings were unfamiliar. A man in a soldier's uniform was washing blood from his hands in a brass bowl. 

Porthos realised it was his blood, and felt briefly sick. But the man had apparently sewn him up, and to Porthos' mind that was even more incongruous.

"Saving me for the hangman?" he rasped. "Should have saved yourself the trouble."

The man, who was neatly dressed with an elegantly trimmed beard and moustache, merely raised at eyebrow at such ingratitude. "It's two weeks until the assizes. Poisoning of the blood is a slow, painful death compared to a clean drop and a broken neck, but if you prefer it, by all means fail to take due care of your wound."

Porthos sat up, swinging his legs over the side of the table. His head swaying sickeningly, and his instinctive impulse to try and overpower his captor was tempered by spotting the pistol not far from the man's hand.

"Thank you," he conceded with ill grace. "There's not many'd have bothered."

"Before I was a soldier, I was a doctor, for my sins." 

"Who are you? Where am I?"

"In the castle. I have been drafted in to take over the garrison here from Captain d'Artagnan. He left tonight, to take up his new posting. My name is Aramis." The man stroked his moustache, considering Porthos with curiosity. "And your name is?" 

Porthos just stared at him in stony silence until Aramis shrugged. "No matter, I know it in any case. D'Artagnan provided an identification before he departed. Your name is Porthos du Vallon, and you serve the Comte de la Fère, is that correct?"

Porthos gave a grudging nod. "I did. Guessing I'm probably out of a job by now." Hoping against hope that Athos had got away, and remained unidentified.

Aramis smiled slightly. "I assume that fine horse you were riding was his?"

"Yeah. He doesn't know I took it."

Aramis nodded slowly. "I'll see that it's returned to him." He paused. "You had an accomplice, I understand?"

Heart thumping in his ears, Porthos shook his head. "You're mistaken. I was working alone."

"Not what I heard. You appreciate there were quite a few witnesses." Aramis looked thoughtful. "You know - I could make a case for leniency, were you to identify the man?"

Porthos glowered. "You must think I'm stupid."

"The alternative is to be tortured for the name."

"After you went to such lengths to patch me up? You don't strike me as a man to sit easily with that, M. Aramis."

Aramis folded his arms. "Do not mistake my compassion for weakness. You have broken the law, and I will quite happily see you hang for your crimes."

"Then I'll hang," Porthos said stubbornly. "I worked alone, and you'll not make me say different."

\--

When the worst of his weeping fit was over, Celine took Athos by the shoulders and made him sit up, wiping the tears from his face with the end of her scarf. 

"I'm sorry," he told her, voice low and scratchy. "You must think I'm pathetic."

"You love him, don't you?" Celine asked softly. Athos nodded miserably, and she sighed. "Does he know?"

Athos shook his head. "I've never told him. Too afraid he wouldn't welcome it, I suppose."

Celine rolled her eyes. "Then don't you think you should?"

"What, declare my devotion from the foot of the gallows?" Athos asked with bleak humour. "That would at least ensure I joined him, I suppose."

"Oh hush you. There must be something we can do. First we need to find out if he's - well. Still alive. Then see what can be done."

"What _can_ be done?" Athos asked hopelessly. 

Celine shook him. "There must be something. I mean it's hardly the Bastille."

Athos looked at her in dawning realisation of what she was getting at. "You're talking about breaking him out."

Celine took a deep breath. "I suppose I am, yes." 

"How?" Athos stared at her, but there was a spark of hope in his eyes now where before there had only been despair.

"I don't know, do I? I'm just saying - it might be possible. If you - "

"If I what?"

"Well, you'd have to make a choice, wouldn't you? Assuming you managed to get him out without anyone knowing you were behind it, which is frankly unlikely in any case - could you let him go? He could hardly stick around here. Or - would you go with him?" Celine picked at a loose thread on her dress. "It'd mean giving up all this."

"I don't care about any of this," Athos said quickly. "If it meant saving his life - I'd do anything."

Celine nodded. "Then the best thing you can do right now is get some rest."

"You expect me to sleep!"

"You'll need to be sharp, Athos. You'll need to be that cold-eyed bastard you like to pretend you are. Or this could end with all three of us dancing from a rope." She stood up and shook out her skirts, bending over to lay a kiss in his hair. "It still might," she sighed.

\--

Somewhat to Athos' surprise they had no official visitors turn up at the house overnight, and he had to assume that for now at least his rank and class had gone some way towards protecting him from d'Artagnan's suspicion. It also suggested Porthos had kept quiet with regards their association - and Athos refused to let himself dwell on the potential reasons he might not have been able to speak out.

Athos rode into town the next morning, Celine perched in front of him on the horse, and they went their separate ways to gather what information they could. The town was rife with gossip on a number of fronts, and they reconvened in a tavern for a hushed council of war.

"He's alive." Athos' relief was palpable, and Celine gripped his hand in a brief gesture of support.

"Locked up in a cell in the keep, they reckon," Celine said. "Won't be easy to get him out, but simple enough to get in to see him."

Athos looked up in surprise, and she laughed. "Easy to see you've never been associated with anyone who's been banged up before. They don't feed 'em much in there, it's expected your relatives support you. Warden'll let you in with food or money for the buying of it, so long as you cross his own palm with enough silver for the privilege."

"So I can see him?" Athos demanded, and Celine frowned.

"Don't you dare. Your fine standing won't protect you five minutes if you give'm reason to suspect you. Best thing you can do is keep your distance."

"But - "

" _I'll_ go and see him. It'll look less odd, they'll likely just assume I'm his sweetheart," Celine interrupted. She softened her tone. "I'll make sure he's okay."

Athos sighed, conceding defeat. She was right, however much it hurt. He wished bitterly his last moments with Porthos hadn't been so frosty, and hated himself for the way he'd behaved.

"There is at least one thing I can usefully do," he murmured. "I've learnt d'Artagnan's replacement is a man called Aramis. He and I - are acquainted. We served together, a long time ago. It's possible he'll listen to a plea for leniency. I shall go and see him."

Celine caught his hand as he made to stand up.

"Try not to incriminate yourself in the process?" she pleaded. "On _any_ charge."

Athos managed a thin smile. "Don't worry. I'll be discreet." 

\--

Aramis looked up at the knock on his door and broke into a broad smile, coming out from behind his desk and striding to meet his visitor with hand outstretched.

"Athos! I thought I might be seeing you. I was going to come out to the house. How have you been?" They shook hands, and briefly embraced. 

"I understand I have something that belongs to you," Aramis smiled. "A horse?"

Athos inclined his head. "More than that, I hear."

"Ah yes, the miscreant." Aramis nodded. "I fear you will need to recruit a new footman."

Athos hesitated. "Porthos - will be rather difficult to replace," he said delicately. "In fact that's why I'm here. To ask you if you would be able to see your way to doing me a favour and - treating him with leniency."

Aramis stared at him. "Well it's out of my hands, I'm afraid," he said. "He must wait for the judge. The charges against him - they're serious. Armed highway robbery - "

"Attempted robbery, technically. You caught him before he could steal anything, I understand," Athos pointed out. 

"The man's crimes stretch back years," Aramis countered, and Athos went pale at the thought that his own historic crimes were to be laid at Porthos' door.

"You have no way of proving he was responsible for any others."

Aramis looked at him curiously. "D'Artagnan already suspected him I understand. Said the fellow even robbed him. The operation he set up to catch him in the act - it was too big a success for the men here for me to even consider letting him go. My own position would be called into question." 

Athos hung his head and Aramis frowned. "Why are you so concerned?"

"Porthos - is more than just my manservant," Athos admitted carefully. "He - means a great deal to me." Once upon a time there had been a certain understanding between himself and Aramis and he looked up hesitantly, wondering if Aramis would take his meaning without him needing to be any more dangerously explicit. 

He did. 

"Oh Athos," Aramis sighed, but it was in exasperation more than censure. "Really? Could you not have at least kept things to your own class? It becomes so messy when you involve those in service."

Athos gave an embarrassed shrug. "The heart goes where it will."

"The _heart_? Oh dear Lord are things that bad?" Aramis shook his head regretfully. "Athos, if I could help you I would, but my hands are tied. The best thing you can do is to forget him."

"That's the one thing I shall never be able to do," Athos said heavily. 

"You know - they tell me he had an accomplice," Aramis said, watching Athos' face carefully. 

"Do they?" Athos' expression was a blank mask of disinterest. 

"Well, he's denying it so far, but there were several witnesses."

"But you don't know who it is?" Athos enquired off-handedly.

"No." Aramis sighed. "Athos, take some unwanted advice from an old friend and keep your distance. You will do yourself no favours by openly showing support for the man."

Athos nodded slowly. "Is really there nothing you can do for him?"

Aramis patted him on the shoulder. "I can see he's not mistreated while in my custody. And when the time comes - I can make it quick."

\--

With Athos' money pouch at her disposal, Celine bribed her way in to the cells of the keep with little difficulty. The Warden, a man of late middle-age and wandering hands, escorted her down the cold stone passages to a door with a barred window and for another handful of coins retreated to a discreet distance, although would not leave her unattended.

"Porthos?" 

Within the tiny cell was a truckle bed, a bare wooden table and a bucket. A huddled shape beneath a blanket on the bed looked up in surprise at hearing a woman's voice and she beckoned him over urgently.

Porthos had passed a miserable night. He hurt all over, and had spent the many sleepless hours confronting his inevitable fate. His one hope was that Athos continued to escape detection, but while his head prayed that Athos had the resolve to stay well away, his heart and current state of misery hadn't been able to prevent a tiny part of him hoping that Athos would come to him.

When he found Celine at his door, it was with mingled emotions. Relief, that Athos had been sensible, but also a treacherous spike of disappointment. 

"Celine! What are you doing here?" he hissed, looking over her shoulder and up the passage as far as his restricted view would allow. Her hands were curled around the bars of the opening, and he covered them with his own. "Is Athos alright?" he added urgently, under his breath.

"Shhh. Yes, he's fine. Are you? You're hurt."

Porthos shrugged, then winced in pain. "The new captain sewed me up himself. Suppose I should just be grateful that little bastard d'Artagnan went, he'd probably have left me to bleed out."

Celine looked round to ensure the Warden was still at a safe distance. "Athos wanted to come himself," she breathed. "Forgive me, I talked him out of it. It's not safe." She wondered whether to mention that Athos was even now pleading Porthos' case with Aramis, but decided against it. Getting his hopes up with no guarantee of a favourable outcome would only be unkind.

Porthos though had brightened at her words. "He did?"

She nodded. "Of course. He's frantic about you."

Porthos looked solemn. "Keep him safe, Celine. There's - there's a chance they might torture me, to find out who I was working with. I swear I'll hold my tongue as long as it's still attached, but don't you let him turn himself in to stop them, do you hear me?"

Shaken, Celine nodded. She wanted to tell him they were working on getting him out but that too seemed to offer false hope, standing here now between such thick stone walls. 

"Hey. Come closer," Porthos muttered. "Give Athos a message for me?"

\--

Having collected his other horse from the castle stables, Athos rejoined Celine at the coaching inn and they rode home in sober spirits, containing their impatience to talk until they were sure they were unobserved.

Shutting themselves in the kitchen they finally faced each other, expressions drawn and tense.

"You saw him?" Athos demanded quickly.

"Yes." 

"He's well?"

Celine nodded, reasoning that it wouldn't help Athos' peace of mind to be told Porthos was clearly scared and in pain. "They've treated his wound. The captain himself, apparently."

Athos nodded, unsurprised. "That's Aramis all over."

"Will he help us?" 

"Aramis can do nothing," Athos confessed reluctantly. "I pushed it as far as I dared, but - no, there will be no help from that quarter. Anything we do we must do alone. What's it like, where Porthos is? The layout?"

Celine sighed dismally. "It all seems rather hopeless now that I've seen it. His cell's at second floor level, and the door is stout. You need a key to enter the floor and another to open the cell."

"Window?"

"Only arrowslits all over. Nobody's getting in or out like that."

Athos clenched his hands into fists and snarled in frustration. "There must be a way." He stared out of the window at where the recent rains had turned into glorious sunshine in apparent complete disregard for his mood. "His trial comes up in two weeks. That has to be long enough to figure something out."

Celine hesitated. "It might be better to act sooner rather than later."

"Why?" Athos turned to stare at her interrogatively, and she squirmed. 

"I just mean - it must be awful for him. Being stuck in there."

"What aren't you telling me?" 

She sighed. "Porthos thinks - they might try and force the name of his accomplice out of him. He swears he won't tell but - there's no knowing what they might do to him."

Athos looked stricken, but to her relief not nearly as worried as she'd predicted.

"I don't think Aramis will let that happen," he murmured.

"You think? Or you're sure?"

Athos looked guilty. "I think he suspects it was me."

"And that's supposed to reassure me?" Celine yelped. "Do you trust him?"

"I don't think he'll act on it, not if I don't do anything stupid." Athos sighed. "That's the trouble, isn't it. I'm planning on doing something monumentally stupid." 

For a moment Athos looked apprehensive, then braced himself. "Tell me. Does Porthos blame me, for what's happened? He should."

"Course he doesn't. And neither should you. He knew what he was getting into."

Athos looked at her apologetically. "I'm sorry Celine. I'm dragging you into all this, and it shouldn't be your problem. If you want to leave, I'll understand. It might be the safest thing in any case. I can give you enough money to - " Athos broke off as she laid her fingers across his lips. 

"Hold your noise," she said softly. "We'll find a way. Oh, and while I think of it, Porthos gave me a message for you."

"He did?" 

Celine rose up on tiptoes with a smile and pressed a kiss to Athos' cheek.

\--

For a few days, little of outward consequence occurred. Celine went daily to visit Porthos, ensuring that the money she was passing over was at least in part finding its way to provide for his food and basic needs. 

During these visits the Warden was always hovering in the background, and Celine gradually came to realise that this was less to keep an eye on her - there were other people coming and going under less supervision to visit other prisoners - and more that he seemed to have a fascination with her.

It was clear that he assumed her to be Porthos' lover, and even went so far as to offer words of sympathy against his inevitable execution - this giving him yet one more reason to lay a supposedly comforting hand on Celine’s waist. She smiled and feigned gratitude, resisting the urge to take his hand and bend the fingers backwards until they snapped.

Encouraging him to a point had its uses. Eager to curry her favour, the Warden was indeed seeing that Porthos was reasonably well looked after, seemingly in the hope that after his death, he would be the one best placed to comfort her.

A plan was forming, gradually, in Celine's mind. Her repeated visits to the keep had allowed her to build up a picture of its layout, its locks and fortifications, and its one potential weakness. The only problem was, she wasn't at all sure that Athos would like it.

\--

Athos had been musing on possibilities himself, and raised the best idea he'd been able to come up with that night. 

"You say the Warden takes bribes - can we not simply offer him a big enough one to get him to turn Porthos loose?"

Celine shook her head. "I doubt it. He'd be risking his own neck then. No, the only way to get Porthos out of his cell is to do it ourselves." She screwed up her nerve and pressed on. "The Warden wears all the keys for the floor on a ring off his belt. Well - I reckon I can get hold of them."

"Celine, not that I'm doubting your skills as a pickpocket, although this might be an opportune time to remind you I once caught you in the act - but even if you can, do you suppose he's just going to let you open Porthos' cell and walk out with him?"

"No. Course not. Which is where you come in - literally. Look, the Warden's got this room over the gatehouse, right? There's a window to the side, only small but no glass in it. All I've got to do is drop the keys out of that to you down below, and you sneak in while I'm - keeping him busy." She held her breath for the explosion, but Athos was still preoccupied with the mechanics of stealing the keys in the first place.

"You're sure you can get the keys off his belt without him noticing?"

"I can if he's not wearing it at the time." Celine watched the dawning horror on Athos' face and brazened it out. "If I play it right he'll even take it off for me himself."

"Celine - "

"It's the only way, Athos. He's made it clear he likes me. It gives us the distraction we need."

"Won't he think it rather strange if you suddenly march in there and offer yourself to him?" Athos demanded roughly, shaken by Celine's matter-of-fact resolve.

"Not if he thinks I'm willing to go with him in return for him letting Porthos go free."

"He'd never keep such a promise."

"No, but I reckon he's just daft enough to think I'm desperate enough to buy it."

Athos was at a loss. "I didn't think you even liked Porthos that much?" he murmured, trying to comprehend why she would be willing to offer such a thing.

Celine hesitated. "Most men - you can feel their eyes on you, you know? Fabien was like that. Always watching. Gave me the creeps."

"Why didn't you tell me? I'd have had him dismissed," Athos asked indignantly.

Celine shrugged. "Fight my own battles I can. Besides, he never really did anything I could object to. It was just a feeling. Anyway, I suppose what I'm saying is, Porthos has never made me feel like that. He sort of treats me like an annoying little sister. I suppose I kind've like it." She looked up sharply. "Don't you go telling him I said that."

"My lips are sealed," Athos promised, mustering a faint smile. "But look, surely you don't have to actually go through with it? Why can't I follow you in and overpower him?"

Celine shook her head impatiently. "There's always other guards wandering about the place. If he thinks he's going t'get some, he'll clear them out. He'll think it's safe enough with the main door locked as well."

"I won't let you do this. You can't think I'd ask it of you. Or that Porthos would."

Celine folded her arms. "Then I hope you're prepared to watch him swing. Because the way I see it, this is our only chance."

"Is there no alternative? Can't you - I don't know, stab him or something?"

"You'd truly rather see me a murderess than a whore?"

Athos looked shocked, but she held his gaze with determination. "He may not be a particularly pleasant man, but he's only doing his job. I know you care for Porthos, but would you really trade an innocent man's life for his? Besides, I'm less than half the Warden's size. If it went wrong, likely he'd kill me there and then. All would be lost, either way. And on top of that, if we kill someone, you'd be forcing your own friend to hunt you down."

They stared at each other dismally, and Celine sighed. "I'll offer no more than I have to. May yet not come to much."

"And if you have to?"

"Then I will." Celine shrugged. "I've been with worse for less."

"I wanted to save you from that life," Athos whispered miserably.

"You did. You have." Celine cupped Athos' face in one hand and looked up at him with wide, serious eyes. "Now let me save you."

\--

They made their plans, and settled on the day. Porthos had been incarcerated for a week now, and in less than another he would be facing trial and certain execution. There would only be one chance to get it right, and Athos and Celine went over and over the scheme - timings, positions, enforced variations, contingencies. It relied not only on Celine being able to get the keys out of the window without the Warden noticing, but also on Athos being able to bluff his way in past the guardroom downstairs. There was a lot that was being trusted to luck, and neither of them wanted to think about what would happen if anything went wrong.

It was decided to make their move after dark; there was less chance of Athos being noticed hanging around outside to begin with that way, and it would be easier to melt away into the night afterwards. They spent the afternoon in town, which Athos passed in various taverns letting it be known that he would be recruiting for a new footman and giving his best impression of a man utterly unconcerned by the fate of the first one, while Celine spent it in the marketplace, selling off their chickens and various surplus produce. 

As darkness fell they reconvened, tense and braced for action. Preparing to move the coach into its key place near the castle, Athos took Celine's hand.

"You don't have to do this. There's still time to change your mind."

Celine smiled slightly. "Well, I suppose we could always swap places, but I don't think you're really his type."

Athos gave a huff of laughter, and conceded her determination. "Just - promise me that you'll get out of there if you need to. If he catches you with the keys, if you even think he suspects, get out. Don't try and buy me time, don't put yourself in harm's way. Just. Get. Out."

Celine nodded. " _You_ just be in the right place at the right moment," she told him grimly. "And let me handle the Warden."

\--

When she appeared in the entrance to the cells, the Warden greeted her with genuine pleasure. It was a tedious job at the best of times, and Celine's visits had brightened his week considerably. 

Celine had chosen a particularly low cut dress for the occasion, and the Warden's eyes had noticeable trouble in remaining on her face. She took the opportunity to seize his hand and lean weakly against him in apparent distress, entreating him at some length to look mercifully upon Porthos' case.

"It's only a matter of days until his trial," Celine said tearfully. "And there can surely be no hope of a reprieve. Is there nothing you can do? I would be so _very_ grateful." She laid a hand on his arm and looked appealingly at him.

The Warden was indignantly ruffled. "You are surely not asking me to consider releasing a dangerous prisoner!" he objected, although without any real heat.

"No, no, of course not. Just - perhaps - when he is to be taken out for trial, it would be so easy to become distracted, and look the other way for a moment. He would technically be out of your custody then, and anything that happened could hardly be blamed on you. I really would do anything to convince you to help him."

He was looking distinctly tempted by the unsubtle offer, but also disapproving.

"Your man would surely not approve of you doing this?"

"I imagine as the alternative is being hanged, he might come round to the idea," Celine muttered, then gave a sly smile. "Besides, does he need to know?"

For a moment Celine thought the Warden was going to turn out to have an inconveniently moral backbone after all, but a little heaving of her seemingly overwrought chest seemed to recapture his attention. While not over-endowed, artful lacing had certainly made the most of what nature had given her.

"Well, I suppose - I might see my way to - if you were - you would be grateful, you say?" He was sweating now, loosening his collar, and she knew she had him.

"I would do _anything_." 

"Then I am sure you will not object to me taking - shall we say, payment in advance?"

Celine heaved silent sigh of relief, whilst looking outwardly reluctant. "How do I know you'll keep your promise?"

"My dear, I am a man of my word! You just come along through here and we can discuss - _now_ what is it?"

Celine had hung back. "Surely we don't want to be overheard? It's hardly what you'd call private."

A little more protesting and fluttering of eyelashes and the Warden was finally convinced to banish the rest of the guards to the room below, locking the heavy door out onto the stair behind them. 

Once ensconced in his tiny office with Celine, he started pulling at his clothing with unseemly haste, and she stepped in to slow him down, whilst pulling the ribbon out of her hair and letting it spill artfully over her shoulders. Laughing at his good fortune, he let her take over unfastening his garments. 

Relieved of his belt and with his breeches round his ankles, he didn't notice Celine slipping the ring of keys off into her hand and twisting the ribbon around them to keep them from clinking against each other. Deciding subtly was never going to buy her the level of distraction needed, Celine placed a hand to the back of the Warden's head and shoved his face firmly in her bosom. As he gave a muffled squeak of astonishment, in the same moment she hurled the keys towards the window, biting her lip and praying her aim was good.

To her weak relief they sailed straight through the gap without incident, and she turned her attention back to the Warden. It was a balancing act now, buying as much time as she could while conceding as little as possible. Everything else was down to Athos.

\--

Porthos had spent a lonely day trying not to dwell on the fact it was the first time Celine hadn't been to see him. There could be any number of reasons for it, and he told himself over and over that they would not abandon him so abruptly. He hoped all was well, and that no misfortune had befallen them. 

When there was a discreet tap at his door in the early evening he looked up disinterestedly, expecting it to be merely the guard with his supper. What he hadn't expected was to find Athos looking back at him through the bars.

He would have cried out in surprise, but Athos held his finger to his lips and Porthos caught himself in time. He rushed to the door, finding to his utter astonishment that Athos was unlocking it.

"Shh. No time to explain," Athos told him under his breath. "Stay very quiet." He turned and relocked the empty cell before moving to the next one and unlocking that too, having given the same signal to be quiet to its surprised inhabitant.

"What are you doing?" Porthos hissed, as Athos proceeded to re-lock that one as well, before moving on to the next. The second freed prisoner looked to Porthos for explanation and he shrugged expansively. 

"Spreading a little confusion," Athos breathed. "If all goes to plan they may not immediately notice you've gone - and will have more people to chase down if everyone escapes." He opened and re-secured the remaining three cells and gestured frantically to the confused men to be quiet. 

"There is a guardroom at the foot of the stairs," he whispered. "Go carefully past that and they may not notice you until it's too late." As the others moved off he held Porthos back for a second. "The coach is in the lane to the east of the castle," he murmured. "Get there and wait for me. If I'm not with you in five minutes, take one of the horses and ride for your life."

"Athos - "

"No _time_ ," Athos insisted. 

"But what will you be doing?"

"I need to return something first. Now go."

Porthos crept down the stairs after the rest, past a closed door on the first floor and out into the entrance hall. Ahead was the exit, and to one side the doorway to the guardroom. They were almost out when one of the sentries looked up from his card game and gave an alarmed yell. 

Porthos dived back across the hall and slammed the door shut on them, turning the key in the lock before the guards could spill out. The door shook under the force of blows from within, but it was stout and held fast. Porthos turned and hared after the others into the night. 

\--

Left behind upstairs, Athos crept down the short passage towards the Warden's room. The door was slightly ajar and he crouched down, inching the keys through the gap, not daring to push the door any wider in case he was seen. He could tell from the murmur of voices inside that Celine was still there, and prayed she'd see the keys and know that she could now make her escape. He debated waiting in case she needed help, but decided his presence would do more harm than good, if nothing else immediately alerting the Warden to the fact the outer door had been breached.

Athos descended the curving stone steps in increasing consternation, hearing the shouting and banging of the guards drifting up from the bottom. Finding them firmly locked in, he hurried past sending a mental prayer of thanks to whoever'd had the presence of mind to do it. 

Heart thumping, outside Athos forced himself to slow down, knowing nothing looked as suspicious as a man running away. To his faint surprise there was no commotion or alarm being raised in the vicinity, and he realised the thick walls of the keep meant the noise the guards were making hadn't yet been noticed. Of the escaped prisoners, there was no sign.

\--

Celine, nerves stretched to breaking point and keenly aware of the faintest noises down the hall, had been doing her best to keep the Warden thoroughly distracted. With an eye on the door she was heartily relieved to see the keys shoved into view, and proceeded to bring matters to a rapid close.

While the Warden was adjusting his clothes and already muttering vague excuses about how she must understand he could not just let Porthos go, that there would need to be further consideration, she scooped up the keys under pretext of gathering up a fallen scarf. Just in time, as he was soon looking around in consternation. 

"My keys - where are my keys?" 

"Here they are." Celine passed them across. "Must have slipped off your belt," she said guilelessly. "Look, I don't think I can face Porthos tonight. Will you take this money and see that he's okay? And you will get him out, won't you, you promised, you _dear_ man."

"Yes, yes, of course my dear, at least, I'll see what can be done," the Warden blustered, hardly able to believe his good fortune at not only the events of the night so far but to immediately then be handed a heavy purse of coins. He must have been born under a lucky star, he decided.

"I'll let you out." He escorted Celine to the main stair and was perturbed to find it unlocked. "I could have sworn - "

"Heavens, what a good thing we weren't interrupted after all." Celine bobbed a demure curtsey and departed as fast as she could. By the time she reached the entrance way she was moving at a flat run, and the sound of splintering wood and outraged yelling followed her out.

\--

Athos hastened round the corner of the outer castle wall to where he was relieved to see the coach still waited, and unhitched the horses from the fence before pulling open the door. Inside, Porthos jumped violently and clutched his chest with a look of such indignance that Athos nearly laughed. 

"Okay?"

"Athos what the fuck is going on?"

"Gaol break. Sit tight, and keep out of sight." Athos slammed the door shut again. A few moments later the coach jolted as the horses started forward, and Porthos held his breath as they moved into the road that ran past the castle. He expected Athos to pick up speed, but it felt agonisingly like they were dawdling along. 

Wondering what Athos was playing at, Porthos nearly slid off the seat as the coach came to a sudden stop, then got the second fright of his life as the door was pulled open again. To his surprise it was Celine, who clambered inside, pulled the door closed and banged smartly on the roof. 

The coach moved off again, this time with increasing speed as Athos whipped up the horses, and they were soon rattling fast down the road at an alarming pace.

Celine hung on to the window frame and grinned somewhat manically at Porthos. "Evening."

Porthos, feeling that the world had gone mad, just shook his head. "I don't suppose you want to tell me what's going on?"

"Didn't Athos explain?" Celine asked in surprise. "We're doing a runner. He's going to sell the jewels that are left, the whole lot, and the carriage and everything, and buy passage on a ship. I hear the Americas are nice. Lots of sunshine and fruit. I think Athos rather fancies himself as a pirate."

Porthos stared at her in confusion. Everything had happened so quickly, it was bewildering. His joy at being reunited with Athos was tempered by not having had a single moment to talk to him, and now what Celine was saying made no sense. 

"He's - leaving?"

" _We're_ leaving." Celine looked at him. "All of us."

"But - why?"

"Well I don't much fancy your chances if you want to stay."

"Celine - "

"Look, I'm sure Athos will explain better than I can. Aren't you pleased? Never mind. I'm sure it's all come as rather a shock."

Porthos blinked at her, belatedly realising that at no point had he thanked anyone for his unexpected rescue and feeling awkward. He didn't even know what Celine had done, but she seemed to have been part of it somehow. 

Conversation was hard in the rattling, swaying coach, and Porthos gave up. Celine was right, there'd be time soon enough to talk to Athos. Glimpses of countryside beyond the swaying curtain suggested they were heading back to the house, and when he asked, Celine confirmed this was indeed the case.

"We didn't load the coach up beforehand, in case we needed a fast getaway," she explained. "So we need to stop off to collect everything."

They clattered to a stop in the courtyard and Celine was out and in through the front door before Athos could climb down to speak to her. He gave a troubled look in her direction, but turned to Porthos first.

"Did Celine explain? We need to leave, before anyone comes looking for you. Pick up whatever you want to bring, and then help load everything else on board can you?" Athos clapped him on the shoulder and moved away.

"Athos!" Porthos reached out in frustration. "Can't we talk about this?"

"No time," Athos said, scrubbing a hand distractedly though his hair and realising this was a bit unfair. "Look, I really do need to see Celine, I'll come up and find you in a minute, okay?" 

Porthos nodded, but Athos was already gone.

\--

Celine was busy stacking baskets in the kitchen when Athos came in. She didn't look up, just kept methodically piling up the things they needed to take. Eventually she ran out of things to feasibly pick up and put down again, and was painfully aware that Athos was simply leaning against the door watching her, patiently waiting for her to stop avoiding his presence.

She sighed, rubbing her hands convulsively on her apron, then took a deep breath and met his eyes.

"Are you alright?" Athos asked softly.

"Yes. Course. Why wouldn't I be?" Defiant and bright and entirely too brittle; the compassion in his eyes made her want to claw them out. She'd been dreading this conversation, didn’t want to have it, didn’t want to know what Athos' reaction would be.

"Did he - did you have to - " Athos faltered, and Celine looked away. 

"Does it matter?" 

"Of course it matters. How can it not matter?"

She looked back at him then, breath shaking and hating the way her own reactions were betraying her. Hating the fact she cared what Athos thought of her.

"Just brought him off with my hand, in the end," she said flatly. "In fact it was all I could do to keep'm going long enough for you to get in and out."

Athos nodded jerkily. "And you're alright? He didn't hurt you?"

"Why is such a big deal to you?" Celine blurted angrily. "Why do you have to make such a fuss? It was nothing to me, less than nothing, why can't you believe that? Do you need me to think it awful, do you _need_ me to be upset?" 

Athos looked wretched. "I am truly glad, if you are unmoved by it," he said quietly. "But I also don't want you to think I undervalue the magnitude of what you did for us. I honestly don't know how you could bring yourself to."

Celine, mistaking his words, felt hot tears prick at her eyes. "Do you think less of me then?" she breathed. "For doing what I did?"

"Less of you?" Athos' face was a mask of horror. "Celine - how can you say such a thing?" He closed the gap between them and threw himself to his knees at her feet in supplication, wrapping his arms around her skirts and pressing his cheek to her bodice. "You are the best of all of us," he declared devoutly. "And I will kill anyone who says otherwise."

Celine's tension broke in a laughing sob of relief, and she pushed her fingers into his hair, gripping him tight for a second, before pulling his head back to look at him.

"Get up, you great daft cock," she muttered. "You shouldn’t be kneeling to me. Besides, not like _you're_ going to be any use to me down there, is it?"

Athos gave a shocked laugh, and they stared at each other in gradually relaxing relief and acceptance. Athos got back to his feet, and took her hands in his. 

"If my heart were not given to another," he murmured, "I would ask you to marry me."

Celine looked up at him in startled surprise, then gave him a crooked smile. "Well if that ain't the most useless sentiment of the day." Athos smiled back in helpless apology, and she laughed softly. "If you weren't a great daft cock, I might accept."

They smiled at each other, and then for a long, warm moment hugged each other fiercely.

Finally Celine pushed him back with a brisk nod and a deep breath. 

"Go and see what's keeping Porthos. We need to get out of here."

\--


	5. Chapter 5

Athos made his way up to Porthos' chamber and knocked discreetly on the half-open door to announce his presence. Porthos had changed out of the filthy clothes he'd lived and slept in for the last week, and was sitting on his bed, shoulders slumped and head down, running the rope of pearls Athos had gifted him through his fingers. The diamond clasp glittered in the lamplight as he looked up.

"Porthos?" Athos ventured, thrown by his troubled expression. Various items of clothing were strewn about the place and he'd clearly started packing a bag before apparently being overset by a fit of melancholy despair. 

"What have you done?" Porthos asked in a low voice, shaking his head in seeming disbelief.

"Saved your life?" Athos winced inwardly, hoping Porthos didn't take that as a demand for gratitude. He was quite clear in his own mind that he'd have followed this course regardless.

"At what cost?" Porthos hung his head. "You'll lose everything. Your home, your position, your good name. For what?"

"For you," Athos said softly. Porthos looked up again, face crumpled in anguish.

"What can I offer you? A life on the run? What about Celine, what will happen to her if you abandon this house?"

"She's coming too," Athos told him. "I did offer to split what money we can raise, set her up to make her own way, but she prefers to take her chances with us."

"Oh, well, at least one of us gets a say in it," Porthos said, more harshly than he'd meant to. "You seem to have the whole thing planned out. Do I get to express an opinion at any point, or am I just to do as you tell me?"

Athos flinched, for a second lost for words. "You're right. I apologise. I have - taken decisions without consulting you. Forgive me. I just - I couldn't bear to lose you." He faltered. "If you would rather not have me with you - now _would_ be the time to say." 

Porthos stared at him, seeing the way Athos was bracing himself, clearly expecting to be rejected. He got to his feet, hardly knowing what to say. He'd spent a week facing his own imminent execution, felt battered and bewildered by his sudden rescue, and now the discovery that Athos was prepared to throw away everything he had for him became a crushing weight of responsibility on top of everything else. But cutting across all this was the fact Athos was standing there before him looking tense and unhappy, and all Porthos could think was how he'd believed he'd never get to hold him in his arms again.

 _"Athos."_ Porthos reached out for him, and Athos half-fell into his arms with a shudder of relief. They clung to each other tightly, each drawing strength from the other, and just for now, it was enough.

Eventually Athos drew back. "We really don't have much time," he said reluctantly. "It can't be long before they come looking for you here." 

"Are they that likely to think I'd come back?" Porthos asked. "Do they know you were involved?" he added anxiously, wondering exactly how reckless Athos had been.

Athos hesitated. "No, but by now they'll know Celine had a hand in it," he admitted, and Porthos looked indignant. Athos held up a hand, forestalling his outburst. "You can yell at me for involving her later," he said, privately wondering if he could get away without telling Porthos the details. "For now, if you are agreed - ?"

Porthos nodded. "Yeah. Alright. Your mad plan it is." He frowned, then held out the pearls. "Here. If you're selling everything, you should have these back."

"No." Athos pushed his hand away gently. "You keep them. I've told Celine to hang on to her tiara too, and I'll keep the rubies. That way if anything goes wrong - if we get separated or something - we'll each have something to fall back on." He smiled. "Besides, I rather like them on you."

\--

Coming down the stairs balancing a stack of jewel boxes, Athos ran into Celine struggling out of the kitchen door with a buckled basket in her arms. To his surprise it gave an indignant yowl and he looked at her accusingly.

"Well we can't leave her behind!" Celine objected. 

"You are not seriously proposing we take the cat with us?" Athos asked in disbelief.

"She'll be no trouble! And all ships need a cat, right?"

"Celine - "

"If she stays, I stay," Celine declared mutinously and Athos sighed.

"Fine. If you insist. But the damn thing's your responsibility."

Athos followed her outside, grumbling under his breath on principle but willing enough to concede. He was acutely aware that it was his own fault both Celine and Porthos were having to uproot their entire lives, that it had been his criminal lifestyle that brought such misfortune down upon them. The fact that both of them were willing to stick with him at all deserved whatever allowances he could make.

He set about loading the strong boxes into the hidden compartment under the seat, while Celine ran to and fro bringing the rest of their belongings out of the house. Despite their resolve to travel light there seemed to be an awful lot of things to take. After a while Porthos joined them with his own bags, and helped Athos strap down what could be safely positioned on the roof.

Finally, by midnight they were done, and Porthos automatically climbed into the coachman's seat, swathed in a thick cloak that hid his face. 

Athos took a moment to stand and regard the house looming over them. Now it came to actually leaving he felt a pang of sadness. Everything had been decided in such a hurry that he'd had no time to dwell on anything less than harsh practicalities, but this had been his home since birth, and the sudden wave of regret took him by surprise. 

"Athos." Celine touched his arm to get his attention and nodded towards the driveway. He turned to look where she indicated, and his heart leaped into his mouth to see a lone rider approaching.

He walked out to greet them, gesturing to Porthos and Celine to stay where they were for now. The rider dismounted, and Athos discovered to his surprise that it was Aramis.

"Going somewhere?" Aramis nodded towards the coach and its occupants with a knowing smile of enquiry.

Athos cleared his throat. "My - ah - aunt, has been taken ill. Very sudden. I'm forced to - " he broke off as Aramis was shaking his head sadly. 

"Athos, you know perfectly well I know all your family are dead. Don't insult me."

Athos sighed. "What do you want, Aramis?"

Aramis hesitated. "Actually, I came to warn you."

"Warn me!"

"You may or may not be aware that someone caused me a great deal of inconvenience this evening," Aramis said neutrally. "Sprung all five prisoners being held in the keep. I'm having to organise the search for them all."

"I'm very sorry to hear that," Athos murmured. "How dreadful."

"Mmn." Aramis gave him a hard look, then sighed. "I came to tell you that a detachment of soldiers will be here at daybreak to search your house," he said more softly. "I could delay them no longer than that. But it looks like I might have saved myself a trip."

Athos nodded. "We'll be long gone by then. If - you permit it, that is?"

Aramis looked at him, then drew him slightly further away out of the others' hearing. "Athos, are you quite sure you know what you're doing? You leave with him, you will be implicated, and there'll be nothing I can do to prevent it. You'll lose your lands, your title - you'll be a fugitive, for the rest of your life. If they catch up with you now they'll hang the lot of you, the girl too probably. Are you really willing to throw everything away for this man?"

Athos took a steadying breath. "I am." 

Aramis was shaking his head in either disbelief or disgust. "And they said I was the impulsive one. I only hope he's worth it."

"Oh, he is," Athos murmured with a glint of mischief in his eyes, and Aramis snorted with laughter. 

"Well. There's not a lot I can say to that." He looked over at the coach, conscious of two pairs of eyes regarding him with hostile suspicion. "There will be patrols on the road," Aramis declared, raising his voice to let everyone hear what he had to say. "If you're stopped and searched - "

"We'll have to take the risk," Athos said. "As a last resort we can abandon the coach, but I would prefer to at least try and salvage something."

Aramis raised his eyes briefly to heaven, as if he couldn't believe what he was about to say. "If - I drove the coach for you, it probably wouldn't be stopped."

"You!" Athos was taken aback. "Aramis no, if you're caught helping us - "

"Then I shall merely say I have apprehended you," Aramis said with a grin. "And all by myself, too." 

"Are you sure that's not what you're doing?" Celine asked suspiciously. "How do we know you won't drive us straight back to the castle?"

"Is she always like that?" Aramis asked Athos in low voice.

"Worse, usually," Athos agreed, and Aramis laughed. 

"I like her." 

Athos smirked. "Patronise her a bit louder why don't you, she'll have your eye out." He walked over to Celine, and met her worried gaze. "I trust him," he said softly. "Besides, if it was his intention to capture us he could have turned up here with half a regiment."

Grudgingly Celine conceded, and allowed Athos to help her up into the coach. Porthos jumped down from the box and made to push his hood back, but Aramis held up a hand to stop him.

"Don't show me your face. I can at least honestly say I've not seen you then." He climbed up to take Porthos' place and lifted the reins. Athos and Porthos joined Celine inside, and pulled the door closed behind them.

As the coach pulled away, with Aramis' own horse following on a tether, Athos looked out to get a last glimpse of his home. He wasn't quite sure how he felt. Not so much a sense of loss as a pervasive numbness, and for some time after the house had fallen away behind he remained staring blankly out of the window. 

He was finally brought back to himself by the light brush of fingers over the back of his hand where it lay on the seat. He turned, blinking back awareness of his surroundings to find Porthos looking questioningly at him. When Athos returned his tentative smile, Porthos took Athos' hand in his and held it, and gradually the coldness throughout Athos' body thawed back into a spreading warmth. 

\--

For some time the coach proceeded without incident, leaving Athos' land behind and travelling at a rapid pace away from town. No one felt like making conversation, or even knew what to say, and the only noise was the occasional protesting mrowl from the basket on Celine's lap. 

Having come this far without being stopped, everyone was starting to relax a little when the coach unexpectedly slowed to a walking pace, and they heard Aramis' low warning float down to them.

"Soldiers. It's a checkpoint." 

Athos risked a wary look out of the window, trusting the darkness would keep him hidden and glad they'd decided not risk showing a light. They were coming up to the junction with the main route south, and sure enough there was a group of four bored looking troopers gathered around a campfire, and one more standing in the road signalling them to stop.

He ducked back into his seat and looked at the others. Porthos was clearly agitated, and Athos laid a calming hand on his arm. "It'll be alright," he breathed. "Aramis won't give us away."

"He may have no choice, they're bound to want to look inside" Porthos whispered, casting a look at the opposite door. "Maybe I should just make a run for it."

"Don't you dare," Athos said quickly. "Seeing you shot in the back once was quite enough for this lifetime, thank you." He bit his lip and looked Porthos up and down assessingly. 

Porthos frowned. "What?" 

"Just trying to work out if you'd fit," Athos murmured vaguely.

"I am _not_ putting her dress on," Porthos declared in a tone of hushed indignance and jabbing a finger at Celine.

Athos looked amused. "The beard might be a bit of a giveaway in any case. No, we'll leave the dresses to d'Artagnan I think. That wasn't actually what I had in mind - although I suspect you'll like this plan even less." 

\--

Aramis drew the horses to a halt and returned the greeting of the young man in the road.

"Lieutenant. What can I do for you?" 

"Pardon me sir - but we're looking for a number of escaped prisoners and have orders to search all likely places."

"I am aware of that, the search is being carried out on my orders," Aramis said tartly. "You think a coach being driven by your commanding officer is a 'likely place', do you?" Cursing the fact that he'd not been in position long enough to know all the men under his command yet, or they him. They'd be loyal to d'Artagnan still, and determined not to let a prisoner so daringly captured by their previous captain remain at large.

The lieutenant flushed red to the ears but stood firm. "Sorry sir. But I'm sure you won't mind if I have a quick look inside? Make sure no one's stowing away, like?" he added cautiously. Aramis sighed. Part of him wanted to commend the boy's pluck and give him a promotion. The other part wanted to kick him in the face.

"I do mind, as it happens," Aramis said frostily. "This carriage contains the Comte and Comtesse de Treville," he added, using the first name that came into his head and sending a mental apology to his old commanding officer for taking his name in vain. He'd be seriously unimpressed at being used to circumvent the law. Although then again the old bastard had always had a soft spot for Athos, so maybe not.

"I am personally escorting them home, because as you say, the countryside appears to be full of escaped criminals that _you_ are supposed to be catching."

"Sir." For a second Aramis thought he was going to let them past, but the lieutenant walked past him and up to the window. "I'll just check everything's alright, with your permission."

Aramis closed his eyes. He could say nothing without increasing the boy's suspicion. He'd been aware of vague scuffling noises from within the coach, and had made sure his conversation had been clearly audible to those inside, but he had no idea what Athos intended. If he decided to make a fight of it - Aramis would be torn between two loyalties. He sighed. By doing this at all he'd already made his decision, and he would have to stand by it. But if he ended up losing his commission because Athos had had the indecency to fall in love, he'd never let him bloody forget it.

Inside the carriage two faces looked up indignantly at the soldier who peered in through the window. 

"What is the meaning of this delay?" Athos snapped imperiously. "The night is cold and my wife wishes to get home. Who the devil are you?"

The lieutenant stammered an apology, his first impression being of a dazzling array of jewels flashing in the light of the burning torches behind him, and of Athos' clearly expensive coat and icily aristocratic manner. 

He looked around quickly, establishing that the coach was empty apart from the couple on the rear seat, then back to them. "My apologies. We cannot be too careful, I'm sure you understand." 

Rather than withdrawing though, he studied them a little more closely, peering through the dark interior with a frown and clearly wondering why they were travelling without a lamp. Athos tensed, keeping his face impassive, knowing it would only be a matter of time before either he was recognised or the boy realised no lady would be seen dead wearing such an ill matched set of jewellery as the diamond tiara and ruby necklace Celine had hastily donned, or that her dress, while of good quality was clearly more suited to a housekeeper than a Comtesse.

And then Celine slipped the latch on the basket in her lap.

Mimi, who'd been shut in a swaying, jolting wicker prison for hours, erupted out of the basket in a ball of tabby vengeance. She made instinctively for the freedom scented beyond the window, which unfortunately was currently occupied by the lieutenant’s face. Claws met skin, in a brief and one-sided skirmish.

The lieutenant fell back howling, and Mimi shot beneath Celine's skirts in a mixture of fright and horrified satisfaction. 

"I told you not to bother them," declared Aramis, patting the spluttering and squealing lad on the back and shooting a look of naked curiosity over his shoulder at Athos. He had no idea where Porthos had got to, and didn't dare look around for him. "Everything alright my lord?"

"Do drive on," Athos drawled. "If everybody has quite finished being tiresome?"

Aramis took him at his word and climbed back into position, the coach pulling away with no further objection from the soldiers, the rest of whom were too busy laughing at their unfortunate comrade to be worried.

Some distance away, Aramis brought the carriage to a stop near a turning to a narrow road leading back towards town and climbed down. 

"Everything alright?" Athos asked quietly as Aramis opened the door. 

"Yes. I think you're safely away now. This is as far as I can take you, if I'm away too long I'll be missed." Aramis looked inside curiously. "What happened to Porthos?"

"Best you don't know." Athos smiled. "You can still say you've not seen him." He jumped out, and waited while Aramis unhitched his horse. 

"Thank you," Athos said quietly. "For everything you've done and risked for us."

"Take care of yourself old friend," Aramis murmured. "I suppose we won't meet again." They embraced, exchanging kisses on both cheeks, before Aramis mounted and rode away with a parting wave.

Athos climbed back into the coach and for the first time risked kindling a lantern. He nodded to Celine, who helped him clear the scatter of packages and Mimi's basket from the opposite seat before lifting the padded cushion, revealing an extremely cramped and uncomfortable looking Porthos wedged into the secret luggage compartment below.

They helped him out, swearing and groaning, and both hugged him.

"Are you alright?" Athos asked, trying not to laugh, relief making him giddy.

"Thought I was going to suffocate," Porthos grumbled. "And my shoulder hurts like fuck."

Athos leaned forward and kissed him on the forehead. "You stay in here. I'll drive us on, it's best you keep out of sight anyway."

He jumped lightly out and went round to the front, wrapping his coat around him to keep out the early morning chill and whipping up the horses once more.

\--

A couple of hours after dawn, they reached the outskirts of the city. Athos took them to the same coaching inn he'd used before, having paused a few miles back to explain his intentions to the others. Whilst he would be recognised as a semi-regular patron, his actual identity was not known and his arrival would excite less attention than if they went anywhere else as strangers.

Realising they would be better off only moving around after dark, he intended to take a couple of rooms and hole up for the day, venturing into the city after nightfall to sell the remaining jewellery and make enquiries about passage out of the country. A coach in a coaching inn would be less conspicuous than if they tried to hide it anywhere else, and here Athos had one additional ace up his sleeve. Jacques.

Having had a whispered and intent conversation with the stable lad, Athos returned to Porthos and Celine. "If anyone comes looking, he'll warn us," Athos said. "It's as safe as I can make us."

Celine gave him a brief hug before locking herself into the room Athos had acquired for her, but Porthos merely grunted and marched into the second room that they were to share. 

Athos followed cautiously, sensing that all was not well but unsure as to the reasons for Porthos' bad temper. He'd been off with Athos since they arrived at the inn. Athos had assumed he merely disagreed with the plan but now he thought back, Porthos had already been distinctly frosty when he stopped to tell them in the first place.

Porthos was managing to exude an air of irritation even whilst undressing, and Athos sank down onto the bed, weary to the bone and too tired to fight.

"You're angry with me," he sighed. 

Porthos just looked at him, and Athos gestured helplessly. 

"Do I at least get to know why?"

Porthos hesitated, then came across to stand in front of him, clad in only his breeches. "Celine," he said shortly, as if that was explanation enough, then growled in frustrated displeasure when Athos just looked confused.

"She told me what she did. To get me out."

"Oh." Athos dropped his gaze, suddenly realising what this was about. 

"How could you? How could make her do something like that?" Porthos sounded both pleading and angry, and Athos looked up at him with a heavy heart. To say that it had been her idea, that he hadn't made her do it, felt too much like weasel words. Porthos was right, ultimately it had been his responsibility.

"There was no other way," Athos said softly. "And believe me, I looked for one."

"There must have been!" 

"Not without killing someone," Athos sighed. "Is that a price you would have been more willing to pay? Because that is the dilemma we had." He rubbed his face tiredly. "I promise you, Celine did what she did of her own free will. I make no excuses, and hate me for it if you must. But if you're asking me if I would let her do it over again if it meant saving you from the noose, then yes, I would. I'm sorry."

Porthos looked miserable. "Do I not have enough to bear already?" he asked, and Athos stared at him in shock. 

"What do you mean?"

"It was me that wanted to go after the stupid princess in the first place. Me that got himself caught. Me that's responsible for making you giving up everything you ever had. Making a fugitive out of you. Getting you hanged, if they catch up with us. And now this."

Porthos sagged down to sit on the bed next to him. "I'd be a liar if I said I wasn't glad to be alive," he said hoarsely. "It's just all so much to carry."

"Porthos, none of this is your fault," Athos insisted. "If anyone is to blame, it's me. I take full responsibility for our current situation, and I made the decision to come with you, no one else."

"And what happens further down the line?" Porthos persisted. "What if it don't work out? You'll come to hate me."

Athos hung his head sadly, realising that despite everything he didn't actually know how Porthos really felt about him. Aramis' words echoed in his head, asking if Porthos was worth the sacrifice, and he blinked back tears of frustrated exhaustion. 

"Porthos, I promise you that whatever happens, I will never hold you accountable for any of this," he said wearily. "Now I suggest we get some sleep, because if anything tonight is likely to be even harder."

They finished undressing and pulled on nightshirts before climbing into the bed. It felt odd trying to sleep with full daylight beyond the shutters, and there was still an awkwardness between them that left them both tense and unsettled. 

Athos tossed and turned, fretful and unable to drop off despite his tiredness. Eventually Porthos rolled over to face him and glowered. "Go to sleep."

"I can't," Athos sighed. "My head won't stop going round and round."

Porthos' expression softened a little. "Not having second thoughts?" he murmured, half-afraid of the answer. 

Athos met his gaze. "No. Never. I swear to you."

Porthos conceded a smile at that, and a little of the anxiety melted out of Athos' heart. 

"I'm sorry," Athos whispered, and Porthos frowned. 

"What for?"

"Everything."

Porthos regarded him with a crumpled expression of guilty sorrow, and inched closer, narrowing the gap between them.

"I never said you had to be sorry for everything," he conceded, and was heartened by the tentative smile Athos gave him in return. He sighed. "I never meant to be unkind to you, before. It's just - such a huge thing, that you've done for me. I guess it's just a bit overwhelming. You've given up everything."

"I kept the only thing worth keeping," Athos said. "I hope?"

Porthos smiled helplessly at him, baffled. "You're insane," he whispered.

"I'm in love," Athos whispered back, the words forming before he'd fully realised what he was admitting.

Porthos froze. "Say that again?"

Athos flinched, quickly backtracking. "I - I'm sorry, I didn't mean - I don't want to make you uncomfortable. I understand, if you don't feel the same."

By now, Porthos was looking more lost than ever. "If I don't - Athos, you must _know_ how I feel about you?" 

Athos shook his head, looking wary and Porthos spluttered at him. 

"Are you telling me you did this - all of this - without knowing whether I felt the same way?" 

Athos flushed. "Well. Yes. I suppose I did."

Porthos shook his head, a disbelieving laugh spilling out of him. "You really are insane." 

Athos ducked his head. "So - you - ?"

Porthos closed the last gap between them and captured Athos' hands in his. "I love you," he murmured, smiling as Athos' head shot back up and he stared at him with growing hope. 

"You - you do?"

"Of course I do you mad bastard." Porthos leaned in and kissed him lightly on the lips. "I love you," he murmured again, finally realising that Athos honestly hadn't been confident of it, and wanting to dispel any lingering doubts.

"I love you too." Athos breathed the words against his lips and they smiled at each other, before kissing again with a new urgency, pressing into each other's arms.

After a while Athos gave a brief laugh, and Porthos looked at him questioningly. "I was just thinking," he said. "You once said I could never confer on you the same social standing as me. Well, we're both fugitives now, so I suppose I've managed it, just in the other direction. We're truly equals now." 

Porthos laughed, and kissed him. "I'm not saying I approve of the way you did it." He smiled. "But I am glad you're with me. Don't ever doubt that, Athos. I know I can be a grumpy bastard at times."

Athos smiled. "I am hardly the easiest person to live with either, at least so Celine insists on telling me." Thinking though, it was lucky Celine had come with them; with three in the group there was less likelihood of the friction inevitable between two people forced into constant proximity. And she understood him - or saw through him perhaps, his facade - knew when to bully and when to offer comfort. 

His thoughts moved from Celine to the man lying beside him, still holding his hand and pressing teasing kisses to the strip of skin exposed where Athos' nightshirt hung open at the collar. Athos had never expected to fall for someone like this, certainly never expected to find a man who loved him back. Despite the danger they were in it all seemed impossibly perfect, and when he finally fell asleep, it was with Porthos in his arms.

\--

Despite a restless sleep during which Athos dreamed twice that Jacques had come to rouse them with news of imminent disaster, the day passed quietly and following a good meal they departed the inn just after sundown. 

Making their way into the depths of the city proper, they took a room at a considerably less salubrious looking hostelry to use as a bolthole. The arrival of such an incongruous group drew some odd looks from the clientele and innkeeper but no questions were asked, it being that sort of establishment and precisely the reason they'd chosen it. Athos let Porthos negotiate for the room, sensing he would sound too out of place here himself.

Once installed and leaving Celine in charge of both luggage and cat, Athos and Porthos took off again to see about selling the remaining stash of purloined jewellery. 

It was several long hours later when they finally returned, by which time Celine had become convinced they'd both been captured and shot. She fell on them in relief, scolding and hugging them by turns.

Athos sat on the bed and hauled several pouches of coins out of his coat, and Porthos did the same. Combined with the money they already had it came to quite a respectable amount, but Athos still wasn't entirely happy with it.

"This should be enough to secure us passage, but precious little else."

"What else do we need?" Porthos shrugged, happy enough to trust to luck and good fortune.

"I'd rather not arrive in a foreign land _completely_ penniless," Athos said dryly. 

"Afraid I won't be able to keep you in the manner to which you've been accustomed?" Porthos teased, dropping down beside him. Athos smiled but didn't rise to the bait.

"I'm fully aware life is likely to be hard," he said. "But we'll need enough for food and lodgings, if nothing else. I'd hoped we'd make more from the jewels than we did to be honest. The urgency of it all meant we were rather forced to take what we could get."

"What do you propose?" Porthos asked. 

"I think we'll need to sell the coach, and perhaps the horses too," Athos sighed. "I'd hoped we could hang on to the coach until we got to the coast, but I think we'll get a better price for it here." He stood up again, and Celine clutched his arm. 

"Take me with you this time? I'm going crazy shut up here on my own, wondering what's happening."

Athos looked at Porthos and shrugged. "Very well. Porthos, will you remain here? I'm loathe to leave our things unattended in a place like this, but I don't particularly want to walk round the city with this much money on me either."

"Yeah, alright," Porthos sighed. "Try not to be too long though, eh?"

Once they'd gone he lay down on the bed, intending to try and snatch a nap, but their chamber was over the taproom and the raucous noises of drinking and carousing from below kept him awake. It also made him itch for a drink, and after resisting for an hour, he finally figured slipping down for a mug of ale wouldn't hurt.

Conscious of Athos' warning he gathered up the moneybags and laid them in the bottom of Mimi's basket, lifting the indignant cat in on top and buckling the lid. Anyone searching the room now would risk a severe maiming before they succeeded in making off with anything he thought, ruefully sucking his bleeding wrist.

Having slipped a few of the coins into his pocket, and trusting that Athos - being a man generally sympathetic to the lure of a decent drink - wouldn't mind overly much, Porthos made his way downstairs.

Entering the warm fug of the taproom Porthos soon felt quite at home. He acquired some ale and wandered around, observing the comings and goings and trying not to draw attention to himself. At one of the tables a group of men were playing dice, and he settled against a pillar to watch the game.

His interest did not go unnoticed, and when after a while one of the players left the table, the spare seat was offered to him with a friendly wave. Porthos hesitated, then took it, reasoning that from here he could see the main entrance, and so would see if Athos and Celine returned, and also the door to the staircase leading to the upper rooms, so he could keep an eye on anyone going up or down.

This vigilance lasted about as long as it took him to get thoroughly invested in the game, and before he knew it a happy hour had passed, as had quite a substantial amount of ale.

Realising the time when a nearby church rang the hour, Porthos excused himself in good humour, his pockets jingling with a little more than he'd sat down with, and well pleased with it.

He was making his way back towards the stairs when a man stepped from the shadow of a pillar and blocked his way. Porthos tensed, ready for trouble, but the man gave him a bland smile.

"Not seen you here before, my friend?" came the neutral enquiry.

"Just passing through," Porthos muttered.

"Is that so? Good, good." The man took a drink, and nodded thoughtfully. "I see you're partial to a game of chance?"

Porthos said nothing, on his guard and wondering if he was about to be either set up or robbed, but the man just nodded again. 

"I like a man who knows when to keep silent. You may be interested to know that if you want to play for _real_ money, there are more games being held downstairs."

"Downstairs?" Porthos hadn't even realised there was a downstairs. The man nodded to a low door at the end of the bar.

"Down there. Say Andreas sent you, and they'll let you in. Stakes are high, mind." He named a sum that made Porthos blink, and patted him on the shoulder. "Entirely up to you."

Porthos turned to watch him go, but the man had already disappeared into the crowd. He made his way back up to their room lost in thought. Normally he wouldn't have the wherewithal to enter such a game, but tonight he realised he did. There was more than enough in Mimi's basket to provide him with the entry stake. 

Their room was as he'd left it, undisturbed and with no sign of Athos or Celine having returned. Porthos scratched his beard thoughtfully. If he was on a roll he could easily double or treble the money he went in with. There was also the risk he could lose it of course, and he wasn't blind to the possibility that a stranger being invited into an unfamiliar gambling den was ripe for being played, but Porthos was confident he could spot if the game was rigged and fight his way out of any more physical trouble should it arise.

Undecided, he hung around for a while longer but the others still didn't return and his impatience grew. He'd never been good at restraint, and the thought of being able to tell Athos he'd solved their money problems was too tempting. Eventually he braved Mimi's claws to withdraw one of the money pouches and made his way back downstairs.

No one stopped him from going through the door at the back of the bar, but he could feel the landlord's eyes on him.

Beyond, he found himself in a narrow passage with a strong smell of damp. He followed it to where a flight of steps twisted downwards and a window looked out into the night. A smell of brackish water and mud suggested that the river lay beyond.

As Porthos made his way down the steps, the damp and cold increased uncomfortably until he was increasingly suspicious he was walking into a trap. The door at the bottom was locked, but a muttered voice answered his knock and when he dutifully informed them that Andreas had sent him, the door swung open to admit him.

Within was a low ceilinged basement room, smoky from poor quality lamps. A number of tables crowded together, each ringed by a cluster of men. To say they were playing cards was hardly to do the atmosphere justice; there was nothing playful about the intensity of their concentration, or the sums of money changing hands.

As soon as Porthos demonstrated he had the stake required to sit in, he was shown to a table and took his seat with a sense of nervous excitement. He looked round at his fellow players and grinned, cracking his knuckles. He would give himself an hour, he decided, belatedly realising he'd left no indication for Athos as to where he might be. If Athos returned and found him gone, together with a large chunk of the money - Porthos felt a twinge of worry over what Athos might think, but it was too late now. With any luck he would be back before the others, and Athos need only ever hear of his triumph.

\--

An hour later, it was a different story. Whilst he'd had some small victories, enough to keep him hopeful, Porthos was painfully aware that the overall trend was one of steady losses and he was desperately down on his opening stake. His only option was to keep playing, and hope his luck turned. He dug once more into the dwindling reserves in his pocket, and pushed his coins into the pile with the others, maintaining a careless smile. Never let them know you're rattled, never let them see it matters if you lose.

Porthos was as sure as he could be that the game was straight, and he wasn't being deliberately cheated, unless all the other players were in on it, which seemed unfeasible. He even considered cheating himself, but that ran the risk of him ending up face down in the river with a knife in his back if he was discovered.

Finally, the worst came to the worst and he found himself out of funds. Sick to his stomach, Porthos contemplated the options. Facing Athos and confessing what he'd done. Sneaking out enough money for another stake and trying again. Running away. All seemed inconceivable for different reasons.

There was one last thing he could try, and with a shaking hand he drew out the pearls from inside the lining of his coat. Would the house accept these as a fresh stake?

The pearls were taken and examined and muttered over, but the answer was yes and Porthos watched with mixed feelings as they joined the increasing heap of money in the centre. He'd noticed other men on other tables had taken a similar tack, one man had put forward a pocket watch, another had offered a jade pendant. 

The pendant had been lost, to the chagrin of its owner and presumably the impending ire of whichever wife or mistress it had belonged to, but the owner of the pocket watch had managed to win it back, and a small stake besides, choosing to retire from the game with a modicum of dignity restored. Porthos took heart from this, both as a sign that the game wasn't rigged, and that he would indeed be allowed to leave with any winnings.

The cards were dealt, and he picked them up with a rather shaky hand. If he lost now, he had no idea what he would say to Athos, or whether Athos could ever forgive him for it, particularly having bailed Porthos out over gambling debts once already. What had seemed almost a dead cert a couple of hours previously now felt like the stupidest idea he'd ever had, and he swore fervently to any gods that were listening that if he could only get out of this without losing Athos' regard, he would never gamble again.

He inched the cards up just enough to see what they were, conscious of the possibility of hidden mirrors, and let them lie flat again, face impassive. 

Inwardly, he was weak with relief. It was a solid hand, and depending on what the next card he received was, could win him the pot. He just had to hold his nerve and pray his luck had turned. It wasn't unbeatable but it was pretty close, and the likelihood of anyone else having a better combination was slim - if it was a honest game.

Another card. Porthos could hardly bear to look, but lifted it up with the same stony countenance. He wondered if the others could hear his heart beating, because it felt like it was trying to pound its way out of his chest. This was it, this had to be it, he'd done it.

Two of the other players had folded on the last round, there were only three of them left. The first man turned over his cards with a grin of a man who's certain he's won. The second man took a look, and threw his own down with a groan of disgust. Porthos took a deep breath, and turned his own over one by one, hoping desperately he'd read them right, hoping he hadn't imagined the straight flush.

He hadn't. It lay there spread out in all its triumph, and the man opposite stared at him in astonished anger. Porthos beamed at him.

"Mine, I think." He reached out to scoop the pot towards him and two things happened in quick succession. First, the man he'd been playing pulled a gun from his coat and levelled it at Porthos' head. Porthos froze. Before either of them could speak, the door burst open and a boy ran in, shouting an alarm.

"Soldiers!" 

Suddenly the room was in uproar, and chairs were overturned as men hurried to get out. 

Porthos blinked in confusion, for a horrified second thinking they'd been tracked down until he realised the boy was yelling about a raid. He grabbed the arm of his erstwhile playing companion - the one without a gun - and demanded to know what was happening.

"How should I know?" the man retorted, yanking his arm away. "They pay a percentage to the local garrison to turn a blind eye, maybe they're behind on payments or something. If you value your skin get the fuck out of here." He hurried to join the throng shoving and pushing to get up the narrow staircase. 

Porthos was torn. He couldn't risk getting arrested, but neither could he show his face in front of Athos if he came back empty handed. Stuffing the pearls safely back inside his coat, he started scooping his winnings into the money pouch, filling his pockets when he ran out of space. He was the only person left in the room now, and rather than following the rest back up to the bar he picked up a fallen bag and started to collect all the abandoned pots from the other gaming tables.

No one had come down to search the room, and Porthos fervently hoped that the soldiers were busy rounding up the exodus of gamblers pouring out of the stairwell and might miss one last man sneaking out behind them.

He ran cautiously up the steps and turned into the corridor at the top just as someone stepped through the door from the bar. As they stared at each other in surprise, Porthos realised why any long-standing arrangements with the local regiment might have suddenly changed. It was d’Artagnan.

D'Artagnan looked as startled as Porthos felt, presumably having assumed that Porthos was safely locked up in a provincial castle. 

"You!"

Porthos stared back at him dismally, as behind d'Artagnan more armed men poured into the corridor. He groaned.

"Oh, bollocks."

Porthos had a split second to decide what to do. He could run back down the stairs, but he was fairly sure there was no way out down there and he'd be trapped. He could charge down the corridor and try and fight his way out, but would almost certainly be shot and probably killed. He could surrender, and end up back in prison waiting for the noose.

Or - there was a draught on the back of his neck, and he realised he was standing next to the window. He had no idea what was below - the river probably, but it could equally be mud, rocks, railings or even a yard at the back of the inn. Nor, for that matter, did he have any idea how high up he was in terms of the drop. But it was possible death weighed against certain death, and as gambles went it was worth the odds.

Porthos turned and threw himself through the window in a splintering of glass and rotten wood.

\--

Returning to the inn just after dawn, Athos and Celine turned the corner of the street and promptly did a smart about-turn, ducking back out of sight as they registered the soldiers milling about in front of the door.

"What's going on?" Celine hissed, as Athos cautiously peered round the side of the building. "Have they found us already?"

Athos stiffened. "That's d'Artagnan!" He flattened himself against the wall and stared at Celine in bemused horror. "What the hell's he doing here?"

She shook her head helplessly. "Have they got Porthos?"

"I don't know," said Athos grimly. "Somehow we need to find out. Hey, what are you doing?" He grabbed her arm as Celine made to walk out into full view of the inn.

"He doesn't know what I look like," Celine pointed out. "I can find out what's going on."

Athos kept hold of her arm. "If they are looking for us, they may well have a description of you," he pointed out softly and Celine flinched, her hand going automatically to the scars across her cheek. Then she shook him off and fluffed out her hair, lifting the hood of her cloak so most of her face was hidden. 

"Years of practice at giving my best side," she said with a brittle smile and Athos resisted the urge to hug her.

"Be careful," was all he said, and she nodded quickly, wandering out into the street with a vague sway to her gait suggestive of drunkenness. To Athos' relief d'Artagnan had disappeared, and he watched her go up to the soldiers on the door, engaging them in tipsily flirtatious conversation rather than trying to walk straight past. He held his breath, but they seemed amused by her and after a while let her go inside.

Athos spent the next quarter of an hour fretting quietly and wishing he hadn't let her go in alone. He didn't doubt her bravery but nor did he underestimate d'Artagnan's intelligence and prayed that this was all just an unfortunate coincidence rather than the result of a concerted search for them.

After what felt like years, to his sincere relief Athos saw Celine come out again. Not only was she unharmed, she appeared to have pressed one of the soldiers into service as a porter, as he was carrying several pieces of luggage that Athos recognised as theirs. 

As he watched, the soldier commandeered a handcart from the adjacent brewhouse and stacked Celine's bags onto it, helping her balance the cat's basket on top, and receiving a kiss for his efforts, to the whistling and lewd encouragements of his fellows on the door.

Unhurried, Celine moved off, going in the opposite direction to where Athos was hiding and drawing the gaze of all of them after her.

Pulling his own hood up Athos gave her a head start then followed her slowly down the road, passing the inn without a glance, and to his relief being ignored by the soldiers in turn. 

A couple of streets away, safe from prying eyes he caught her up. Tensed at the sound of approaching footsteps behind her, Celine gasped in relief to find it was Athos, and this time he did hug her, briefly but fiercely, resisting the urge to bombard her with questions.

"You've done well," he said instead. "How the hell did you manage that?"

Celine smirked. "Said I was being cruelly mistreated by my man and wanted to do a runner with all his stuff. Antoine was most helpful. I think he rather liked me."

"Oh, _Antoine_ is it?" Athos teased, and she jostled him with her shoulder before looking serious.

"They've not got Porthos but they know he was there. Antoi- the soldiers said they went in to flush out a gambling den, then their captain recognised an escaped fugitive. I'm guessing that was Porthos."

"But what happened?" Athos pressed impatiently. "Where is he if he's not in custody?"

Celine hesitated. "They said he made a break for it. Jumped through a window and - and into the river. They're searching for him apparently."

Athos went pale. "The river. Can he swim?"

"I don't know." Celine squeezed Athos' arm. "At least he got away, right? I mean, there's still a chance."

"Yes," said Athos faintly, but he looked stricken and Celine shook him. 

"Don't give up on me now. Come on, we need to get this lot stowed somewhere and start looking for him."

With the city waking up around them they took a room at another down at heel inn and having secured their belongings hurried back towards the river. 

Their hopes of finding Porthos quickly were soon dashed - the banks were crawling with soldiers, and with the risk of discovery too great they reluctantly returned to the inn.

"At least if they're still looking it means they haven't caught him yet," Celine said, trying to instil some measure of hope in Athos, who looked utterly dejected. "And - well, he must have survived the jump, right? Or they'd have found his bod- they'd have found him by now."

Athos nodded heavily. "I know. You're right. I just - I'm afraid he'll have drowned, or been swept away, or hit by a boat, or - "

"You're all positives you, ain't you?" Celine scooped Mimi out of her basket and dropped her on Athos' lap. She'd thought stroking the cat might make Athos feel better, but the agonised yelp he gave as claws pierced his breeches suggested this might have been optimistic. Still, at least it had taken his mind off things.

Looking into the basket, Celine noticed the bags lying in the bottom and hauled them out. "At least we've still got the money. Porthos must have hidden it in with Mimi."

Athos looked over and frowned slightly. "Is that all of it? I thought there were more bags than that."

"That's all that's in the basket." Celine quickly searched through their luggage and came up empty. "You're right, I think there's a bag missing. Porthos must have had it on him? I don't think I missed anything when I picked up the stuff. Unless he'd hidden it in the room somewhere?"

Athos looked thoughtful. "There's just under a third missing. Maybe he thought we'd be better off dividing it up to carry it."

"Then why hide the rest?" Celine asked. "And what was he doing wandering about to get recognised in the first place? You told him to stay put."

"We were gone a long time," Athos sighed. "Maybe he got worried."

"Or bored." Whilst Celine liked Porthos she harboured less romantic illusions about him than Athos, and considered it entirely possible he'd got himself into trouble. And there was another possibility she knew Athos wouldn't want to face. 

"There's always the chance he might have just - decided to leave," she said tentatively. 

Athos shook his head firmly. "He wouldn't abandon us. He wouldn't."

"Not even if he thought he was keeping you safe by doing so?" Celine ventured, and Athos froze. "He might figure that with him gone you could go home. I mean, depending on whether Aramis managed to keep your part in things quiet, no one may even know you were involved yet."

Athos looked up at her, shaken. "He wouldn't just go," he insisted. "Not like this. Not without saying something."

Celine shrugged. "He'd know if he waited around to say goodbye you'd talk him out of it." 

Athos put his head in his hands. "I won't believe it. I don't believe he'd run out on us. On me. Not after - not after everything we've said to each other. I trust him."

"I hope you're right." Celine sat next to him, and leaned against his shoulder tiredly. "But in that case we don't have long to find him. Not if you want to leave tonight."

Athos groaned. "I'd forgotten." Having arranged the sale of coach and horses, Athos had also negotiated passage for the three of them, first on a barge travelling downstream to the coast, and thereafter on a ship headed for the Indies. The barge left that very evening, and if they missed the connection there were no more ships leaving for a month.

"I won't go without him," Athos said softly, and Celine just nodded with resigned acceptance. 

"We should get some rest," she said, yawning. "It's been a long night, and we can do nothing with soldiers crawling all over the place."

Athos closed the shutters and lay down next to Celine on the bed, both fully clothed and neither much liking the look of the filthy bedding. He sighed, quietly forlorn, and Celine reached out and took his hand.

"It'll be alright," she murmured. "We'll find him. I promise." Thinking privately that if Porthos did turn out to have run out on Athos after all this that she'd skin him alive, whatever his reasons.

\--

Athos was roused from a deep sleep by the sound of someone knocking insistently on the door to their room. Disoriented at finding himself curled up against Celine he sat up groggily, trying to blink the sleep from his eyes.

Celine was awake now too and looked to him in alarm as he climbed off the bed, gesturing to her to remain quiet.

Athos made his way stealthily to the door, wondering who it could be. Soldiers would be unlikely to knock, and no one knew they were here.

With a glance back at Celine, he reached down and unlocked the door, bracing it with his other hand in case anyone tried to burst in, before pulling it sharply open.

Outside, covered from head to foot in mud and looking exhausted, stood Porthos.

Seeing Athos was temporarily rooted to the spot in surprise, he stepped quickly into the room and re-locked the door behind him.

"It's alright. I'm alone," he said in answer to Celine's worried look and guessing they might think he was being used as a decoy. 

"Porthos." Athos finally found his tongue, and recovering the use of his limbs threw his arms around him. Porthos hugged him back, laughing tiredly.

"Careful. I'm a bit stinky."

Athos pulled back and wrinkled his nose. "What is all this?"

"River mud." Porthos made a face. "I've just spent hours lying under a stack of old crates covered in the stuff, with soldiers marching right past me nose." A thought occurred to him and he grabbed Athos by the arm. "D'Artagnan's here!"

"I know, we saw him," Athos said. "He seems to have taken over the local garrison." he frowned. "How did you find us?"

Porthos grinned. "A posh bloke and a girl with a cat? You weren't that hard to track down, believe me."

Celine joined them, looking worried. "If we're that easy to find we should move on."

"Nah, I reckon you're alright for a bit," Porthos said. "The people round here aren't the sort to tell soldiers anything voluntarily."

"They seem to have told you willingly enough," Athos pointed out.

"Maybe I've just got an honest face?" Porthos suggested, then snorted at their expressions. "Yeah, alright, so I might have had to pay for the information. Talking of which - " he drew the missing money pouch out of his coat, and then to the surprise of the others added another clinking bag and then handfuls of loose coins from his pockets.

"Where did you get all that?" Athos asked in astonishment. 

"I won it," Porthos told him airily, then winced. "Sort of."

Athos just looked at him, and Porthos sighed. "Look it's a long story, can I wash some of this crap off first? I'd sell my left bollock for a bath right now."

Celine snorted. "I'll go and ask them to heat some water," she said, and slipped out of the room.

Left alone, Athos and Porthos regarded each other.

"I thought I'd lost you," Athos said softly, and Porthos smiled at him apologetically. 

"I thought I'd lost meself for a second there. Talk about a leap into the unknown. Landed in the river, fortunately not from too high up. Made it to the bank, but - " Porthos hesitated. "Guess I must have passed out for a bit," he admitted, suggesting that the fall and landing hadn't been quite as simple a matter as he was making out. "When I came to there were bastard soldiers everywhere. All I could do was hide." 

Porthos sagged down onto the end of the bed, and Athos realised he was shivering. 

"You're freezing." 

"I'll live." Porthos yawned. "Trust me, finding you makes me feel better already." He gave Athos a rather crumpled smile. "You didn't think I'd run out on you, did you?"

"Not for a second," Athos promised, and Porthos' smile widened for a moment in relief.

"I didn't know what you'd think." He shuddered, cold and tired and utterly drained. "I fucked up Athos," he admitted quietly. "You told me to stay put, and I walked right into him."

Athos sat down next to Porthos and put an arm round him. "Chances are if you hadn't, Celine and I would have walked slap bang into the lot of them when we came back," he said. "You're safe, that's all that matters."

Celine returned at that point and told them that a bath was being drawn for Porthos down the hall. Athos looked at him. "Want me to come with you?" he offered, reluctant to be parted again so soon.

Porthos smiled. "Yeah, come on. You could do with a wash yourself now, you've got it all over yourself."

They found the bathroom with its tub of steaming water, and locked themselves in thankfully. Athos helped Porthos off with his clothes, noticing how he winced as he moved. What with his existing injuries to arm and shoulder, plus the trauma of jumping through a window into a freezing cold river, Athos thought it was frankly a miracle Porthos was still standing.

Porthos lowered himself into the water, hissing as a dozen hitherto unregarded lacerations made themselves known. Athos knelt by the side of the tub and gently sponged Porthos clean of the mud, taking a slow pleasure in it. Porthos let him do it, watching him sleepily from under lowered lashes as the hot water gradually relaxed and revived him.

The soothing motion of Athos' hands had another effect on Porthos, and he smirked as the head of his cock broke the surface of the water. 

"Now look what you've done," Porthos told him. "Gone and made me all stiff."

"We've hardly got the time to waste sorting you out," Athos declared, although his hand dipped below the water unbidden and wrapped snugly around Porthos' cock. 

"Why don't you join me?" Porthos coaxed. "Reckon there's room for two in here."

"Hardly," Athos smiled. "Not without causing a waterfall."

Porthos leaned back and pushed lazily through the circle of Athos' fingers. "Depends where you're sitting," he said.

\--


	6. Chapter 6

Athos took little more convincing to remove his clothes and climbed carefully into the tub with Porthos, half-kneeling over him, half sitting in his lap. Porthos wrapped wet arms around Athos' waist and held him close for a moment before lifting his face up to be kissed.

For a few warm, lingering minutes they simply enjoyed each other's touch and closeness, kissing and embracing with an unhurried pleasure. Porthos sluiced off the streaks of mud he'd managed to transfer to Athos and then washed him in turn, with attentive hands. 

By now Athos was as hard as he was and they rubbed slowly against each other, until Porthos was struggling not to come.

"What happened back there?" Athos suddenly murmured between kisses, taking Porthos by surprise.

"What?"

"At the inn, with d'Artagnan," Athos clarified, not letting up the movement of his hips and sending Porthos into a turmoil of pleasure and guilt. "Where did that money come from?" 

Porthos groaned. "Can we not do this now?" he begged, wrapping a hand around Athos' cock in the hope of distracting him in turn. It didn't work, and Porthos suddenly had the sneaking suspicion Athos had agreed to this in the first place entirely to get his defences down.

"What don't you want to tell me?" Athos asked. "What's so bad?"

Porthos sighed. "Can't we have sex first and talk later?"

"Why can't we have sex and talk at the same time?" Athos countered, shifting his hips up suggestively, and making Porthos moan with combined arousal and regret.

"Because when I tell you you'll probably want to shout at me more than screw me," he confessed. 

Athos cupped Porthos' face in his hands. "I love you," he said softly. "Nothing is going to change that. I promise."

Reluctantly, Porthos described the events that had culminated with him throwing himself through a window into the river, sparing no details and avoiding the temptation to gloss over the more awkward moments.

Athos let him talk without interruption, and when he'd finished merely gave a troubled sigh.

"Are you mad at me?" Porthos asked hesitantly. Athos was at least still sitting in his lap, and he took that as a hopeful sign.

"I'm not your employer any more," Athos said quietly. "I can't tell you what to do. The decisions you make are your own, as are the consequences."

Porthos flinched. He'd rather Athos had yelled at him than this air of disappointment. 

"It turned out alright though?" he ventured.

"Yes." Athos sighed. "Although part of me suspects it would have been a better lesson for you if it hadn't."

Porthos shook his head fervently. "I promise. I'm through. No more gambling." He took Athos' hands in his and squeezed them. "When I realised what I'd done - what I'd nearly had to tell you - I'm not likely to forget that feeling in a hurry. I don't ever want to lose your regard for me."

Athos half-smiled, and kissed him. "Thank you. For telling me. For trusting me. And for having, in the end, the luck of the devil."

Porthos grinned, a sudden weight lifted from his heart. "Do you forgive me then?"

"I forgive you."

"Would you have forgiven me if I'd lost it all?"

Athos gave him a look somewhere between attempted severity and helpless amusement. 

"Of course I would," he sighed. "Although as that would have resulted in us being stuck here and probably eventually caught and condemned, I imagine your own conscience would have been a far harsher judge in any case."

Porthos shuddered. "I don't want to think about it."

"Then how about I give you something else to think about?" Athos said suggestively, and set about reviving Porthos' waning erection.

It didn't take long until Porthos was as hard as before, and Athos wasted no time in making it clear he was entirely willing to go along with Porthos' original joking suggestion. With Porthos holding himself steady, Athos sank down onto his wet and slippery cock, making them both moan out loud before casting guilty looks towards the locked door. It would be no joke to be discovered doing this, although the sense that they were both already beyond the law was somehow freeing.

Athos took a moment to recover himself and Porthos held him tight, face pressed against Athos' chest, hands caressing his back. There'd been moments when they'd thought they'd never get to do this again, and both were determined to savour every second. In the journey that lay ahead of them there was likely to be little scope for privacy, and neither knew yet how it might end.

It gave an added intensity of feeling to the whole thing, and few words were exchanged as they moved against each other, saying everything instead with their eyes, their hands, and their lingering, breathless kisses.

Athos rose and fell with a slow rhythm, working Porthos to a groaning, gasping state of incoherence. The water sloshed around them, and the wet slide of skin against skin was intoxicating. With Athos clenching around him Porthos felt like he was going to explode, and did his best to concentrate on his rather jerky stroking of Athos' own erection.

Athos was a mess of sensation, thighs burning from fucking himself on Porthos' cock, the ache of being stretched and filled, and the fact they'd taken little time to prepare. His legs were shaking with effort but every dip of his body made fires kindle all over again as Porthos thrust deeper inside him. 

Rough fingers were stroking him ever closer to a climax, and Athos pushed damp hair back out of his face, giving Porthos a rather wild smile. Porthos threw back his head and Athos felt him come, felt his thick cock pulsing inside him and the sudden flood of warmth. 

He gave himself up to the touch of Porthos' hand and the push of his cock, the feeling of fullness increased tenfold, the slide of Porthos inside him wetter and slicker, until Athos came with a shudder, spilling over Porthos' hand and slumping forward into his arms with a quiet groan of completion.

They washed themselves off all over again and then lay in the cooling bath, recovering. It wasn't the cleanest water any longer, but to leave it meant facing the world outside, and neither was quite ready for that.

Eventually they dried and dressed, Porthos heartily grateful to have clean clothes again.

"We leave tonight." Athos told him about the barge, and the arrangements he'd made for their passage.

"I'm sorry you had to sell your horses," Porthos murmured. "I know you were fond of them."

Athos nodded gratefully. "There was no real alternative," he sighed. "They have at least gone to a home where they will be well treated. That's partly why we were so long returning," he admitted, looking a little sheepish. "I would only part with them once I'd found a buyer I was happy with."

Porthos smiled and kissed him. "You're a soppy bastard at heart, aren't you?"

Athos gave a surprised laugh, and looked flustered. "I am not!" he protested, but Porthos just grinned.

"It wasn't a complaint."

Back in their room, they found Celine fast asleep in a patch of sunshine, having dragged the covers off the bed and curled up on the floor, leaving the mattress for them. Porthos stretched out gratefully and Athos lay down beside him, no longer tired but enjoying the prolonged physical contact. 

"Get some sleep," he told Porthos quietly. "I'll wake you when it's time."

Porthos smiled up at him sleepily. "It'll be alright, you know," he murmured. "We'll be okay. All of us."

Athos kissed him on the brow, and nodded slowly. "I hope you're right."

"I'm always right." Porthos rolled over and tucked himself snugly against Athos, one arm around his waist, closing his eyes. "You just wait and see."

\--

Athos woke Porthos and Celine in the early evening, and they packed up their things in preparation for departure. Given the likelihood of having to move fast, Athos made them take out anything they considered non-essential, and also re-divided the money into three, giving each of the others their share to carry.

"In case we get separated again," he explained. "It's turning out to be more likely than I'd anticipated."

Porthos flushed but said nothing, although he was comforted by the smile Athos gave him as he handed over the pouch.

"Have we got time to eat?" Porthos asked. "I've had nothing since last night."

Athos considered, and finally nodded. "Yes, alright, although I suggest we don't hang about. It's probably sensible to keep our strength up in any case. Let's see what our esteemed landlords can conjure up for us."

This turned out to be a rather thin stew, matched in quality only by the staleness of the bread that came with it. It appeared to be what the rest of the house was having though, so there was little recourse for argument, and as Celine scathingly remarked, at least the lighting was so bad you couldn't see what was in it.

They were clustered around a table at the back of the main room, tucked half behind the overhang of the stairs and distressingly subject to the reek of the backyard jakes every time someone opened the rear door. As it happened this unfavourable position turned out to be the saving of them, for Porthos looked up as he finished his meal to see the landlady standing in the main porch conferring with two soldiers. 

He grabbed Athos' arm and nodded with silent urgency. Athos peered round the turn of the stairs and swore under his breath.

"Let's go," he said, and rising from the table was clearly intending to make a swift exit out the back, when Celine clutched his other arm.

"Mimi!" she hissed. "We can't leave her!"

Athos gave her a frustrated glare. "If I swing for that bloody cat - "

Porthos checked on the soldiers, to find they were still negotiating with the landlady - presumably she was insisting on payment before selling out any of her customers, which at least bought them a minute or two.

"I'll go, he offered. "We need our stuff anyway, we won't get far without money."

Athos, who'd already been carrying his on his person on general principles, rolled his eyes in exasperated surrender. "Oh come on, I suppose we should at least try and stick together," he sighed, and lead the way hurriedly upstairs.

They snatched up their bags and bundled the indignant cat into her basket, only to hear the thump of booted feet ascending the stairs.

There followed a hurried retreat back to their room, where Athos and Porthos hauled the heavy bedframe in front of the door.

Celine threw the window open and peered down. "We should be able to make it," she said dubiously. The others peered over her shoulder. There were footholds on the rough beams of the structure, then a sloping slate roof before a short drop to the yard below.

"No time to debate it," Porthos declared, and lead the way out of the window. Once he was safely out, Celine handed Mimi's basket to him and watched anxiously as he made the awkward descent.

"Your turn," Athos told her, and helped her over the sill as someone banged imperiously on the bedroom door behind them. Hampered by a heavy dress, climbing was difficult and she finally lost her footing on the slippery tiles, holding in a shriek as she shot off the edge of the roof.

Underneath, Porthos caught her neatly in his arms, and laughed at her expression as he set upright.

"Next time you can catch me," he grinned, as Athos dropped out of space to land neatly beside them.

"Come on, we're wasting time," Athos said impatiently and shouldered his pack, giving an irritable glance at the cat basket. He'd insisted on Celine taking responsibility for the animal herself, but this warred with a certain ingrained chivalry, plus the knowledge they'd travel faster if he carried it for her.

Porthos solved the question by picking the basket up himself and marching off with a firmness that brooked no argument from either of them.

At the rear of the yard was a small gate leading out into a back alley, and they hurried out of this to the sound of shouts from the first floor window, the soldiers presumably having succeeded in shoving the bed out of the way, or possibly just breaking down the door.

They fled into the gathering dusk, taking turnings at random to shake off any pursuers but gradually working their way closer to the river. If they could only reach the appointed rendezvous they should be reasonably safe - Athos didn't think anyone would think to look for them escaping on a slow-moving barge.

A mist was rising from the water when they reached the river, slow grey billows of it cloaking the boats and jetties, and it took a good twenty minutes to locate the master of the barge that Athos had made arrangements with through a second party. Once found, the old man was taciturn and resistant to haste, only grudgingly allowing them aboard after prolonged and increasingly anxious negotiations.

They stowed their things below decks in a stuffy corner of the narrow hold, squeezed between barrels and coils of rope smelling stiflingly of tar. Escaping with relief to the fresh air, the three of them waited impatiently on deck for the crew to cast off, tense and uneasy with the knowledge they were even now being hunted.

Just as it seemed they were within minutes of making good their escape, Athos saw soldiers emerging from the fog; at first only a single pair, but then a second and a third and more, until the waterfront was crawling with them.

"Get below," he said tersely, but it was too late, another had come out of the darkness behind them, and pointed at Porthos accusingly.

"Here!" he yelled to his comrades, and would have leapt aboard except that in the same moment Porthos had jumped back onto the wharf and given the unfortunate man a hearty shove that sent him splashing into the dark water below.

More shouts were taken up along the jetty, and Porthos exchanged a single meaningful look with Athos before turning and running as fast as he could away into the cloaking fog.

Athos span to face Celine, and seized her hand. "Stay with the boat," he ordered. "We'll draw them away, you'll be safe." In the next moment he would have followed Porthos in a leap to shore, but she grabbed him in alarmed protest.

"Athos!"

He turned back, cupping her face in his hands and holding her gaze intently.

"We _will_ find you. I promise." He pressed a kiss to her forehead and with that ran blindly after Porthos into the mist.

Athos ran along the foreshore, ears straining for both sounds of pursuit and the footsteps ahead of him that would lead him to Porthos. It was disorienting in the mist and falling dark, and his own breathing sounded much too loud.

Flat stones crunched and slid underfoot, a brittle crust that hid sucking black mud. He could hear no one now, neither in front nor behind, and continued more cautiously. He didn't dare call out Porthos' name, and became acutely aware that besides the soldiers there were other denizens of this area who would cheerfully kill him for the coat on his back.

Warehouses loomed out of the dark to his left as the strip between land and water narrowed. Athos was just wondering if he'd somehow missed Porthos and should turn back, when there was a movement in the mist behind him, a hand clamped over his mouth and he was dragged backwards into the shadow of a building.

Taken too much by surprise to struggle at first, Athos eventually realised it was Porthos who had hold of him and relaxed in exasperated relief.

"Shhh," Porthos breathed against his ear, and when Athos nodded understanding, he let his hand slip away from Athos' mouth, although kept the arm looped tight around Athos' waist where it was.

From beyond came the noise of footsteps, several men by the sounds of it, picking their way across the mud. Athos and Porthos melted back deeper into the protection of the building as they went past.

"Where's Celine?" Porthos asked under his breath, once all had been quiet for some minutes.

"I told her to stay with the boat." Athos turned towards him, the better to muffle his words. "She'll be safer there, and less likely to be recognised without us. We'll have to catch it up, or else make our own way to the coast."

Porthos nodded. "Will she be alright?"

"Celine can take care of herself," Athos promised him. "Right now it's us I'm worried about."

The soldiers were returning, having run out of navigable riverbank. This time they were searching more diligently, having realised the fugitives must be somewhere in the stretch they'd already traversed.

"Do you think this floor will hold us?" Porthos whispered. The warehouse they were sheltering in seemed abandoned and the timbers were rotten and creaking.

"I think we have to risk it," Athos breathed, and they inched their way further in. Skittering noises in the darkness suggested rats, indignant at their home being invaded. Boards groaned alarmingly underfoot, and Athos and Porthos joined hands just in case one of them suddenly pitched through the floor.

A few feet in they stopped and huddled behind a stack of empty barrels. The darkness was too complete to risk walking blindly any further, and they would just have to trust that the soldiers wouldn't fancy entering the place either.

Voices came and went, the flare of a torch as men peered into the gloom. Porthos forced himself to remain motionless, knowing it was safer to hide than to fight, but the feeling of being hunted was sickly unpleasant and he'd much rather have taken action. He was grateful for the steadying press of Athos' hand, still clasped warmly in his.

They remained crouched there for what felt like hours, increasingly cramped and achy but too afraid to shift position in case they were heard. Eventually, when no sounds of searching had been heard for some time, they ventured cautiously out.

For now the riverside seemed emptied of soldiers, and they made their way back downstream to their starting point. The barge was gone, nothing there but black water lapping against the wharf, reflecting the torches burning in their stands.

"She'll be fine," Athos muttered, more to himself than to Porthos, staring out across the water as if he might still see the receding boat with Celine on board. Trying not to feel like he'd abandoned her.

"Athos." Porthos called his name from a few feet away, low and urgent, pulling him out of his reverie.

"What is it?" Athos joined him to find Porthos was staring at a poster tacked to one of the buildings.

"My reading ain't great," said Porthos grimly. "But am I right in thinking that's about us?"

Athos looked, then ripped the sheet off the wall angrily. "Yes," he said. "Descriptions - of all three of us - and a reward offered for information." He clenched the paper in his hand and sighed, looking momentarily lost.

"You alright?" Porthos asked, concerned.

"Just brought it all home to me I suppose," Athos said softly. "Seeing it written down like that, all the charges they list. Makes it real."

"I'm sorry," Porthos looked down at his feet. "I've screwed up your life."

Athos frowned. "No you haven't." He leaned sideways, nudged Porthos' arm with his own. "You've made it worth living. Come on, let's get the fuck out of here." He scrunched the notice into a crackling ball and hurled it out into the river.

\--

After a long and tiring walk to the edge of the city dodging what appeared to be the entire country's complement of armed men, it finally dawned on Athos that all this was not, in fact, for the purposes of catching two provincial thieves and their female accomplice, but that some other kind of political skirmish must be imminent.

Soldiers, city guards, local regiments, there was a rainbow of clashing uniforms on the streets that made life exceedingly uncomfortable for the two footsore men, but at least the realisation that most were oblivious to their existence meant they could stop hurling themselves into shadows and alleyways every time another troop marched past.

"Must be war brewing," Athos murmured. "Maybe we're leaving the country just in time."

"At least it gives them something else to think about," Porthos grinned. "Maybe they'll forget about us, eh?"

Beyond the city gates they managed to hitch a ride on the back of a cart returning from market and dozed fitfully, stretched out in the scattering of hay as above them the sky slowly lightened and the stars faded out.

Mid-morning the cart turned off the main highway and they resumed trudging towards the coast, hoping to pick up another lift. The barge would take two days to get there, slow but sure. They could do it in far less on a fast horse, but if they were forced to walk the whole way they would miss the connection. 

Athos wondered what Celine would do, if they didn't make it in time. She had all the details of the ship they were to take, and enough money on her person to pay her passage. But he suspected she would wait for them and let it sail without her and the worry chafed at him, a constant background anxiety that left him quiet and preoccupied.

Porthos was in higher spirits, enjoying the fresh air and the illusion of freedom, and in the stretches of road concealed between high hedges or looming cliff faces, he would take Athos' hand as they walked along. Athos never objected, grateful both for Porthos' cheerful company and the fact Porthos didn't intrude on his thoughts or pester him with conversation.

At noon they stopped to rest for a few hours, hidden in a hayloft, lying wrapped in each other's arms. 

When they woke, Athos risked approaching the nearby farmhouse to buy some bread and cheese. They ate it on the go, eyeing covetously the two skinny looking horses in the farmer's field as they left.

More hours of walking, blistering their feet and their tempers. They were holding hands less often now, irritable with each other through tiredness and hunger. No more wagons had come along, at least not in the direction they were going, and it was starting to look like they wouldn't reach the port in time.

Athos had finally proposed that they simply buy a couple of horses, reasoning they could sell them again at their destination, but once they had this in mind it dawned on them they'd passed precious few horses along the way, and those they had seen were tatty and ancient.

Enquiries at a couple of farms confirmed their suspicions - the army had marched through earlier, commandeering all the best horses for their own ends. Only the weakest and oldest had been left, and every farmer Athos approached refused to sell or hire any to him.

At this point Athos had proposed they simply steal a couple, but Porthos refused on the grounds they'd be taking not just horses but a family's only remaining means of harvesting and marketing, however much gold they left in its place. It had been partly this disagreement that led to the current frosty atmosphere, and as night once more faded into morning, they were barely speaking.

This state changed abruptly as they rounded a hill and were unexpectedly confronted by an army encampment spread out below in the valley.

Previous bad tempers forgotten, they clutched each other and ducked back out of sight, exchanging alarmed glances. The only way to the coast without a detour of twenty miles or more was through this camp.

"There's no reason to suppose they'll pay us any mind," Athos reasoned. "We should be able to just walk past. It's a public road. Besides, it's still early, they'll mostly be asleep - there'll be a few sentries at most."

Porthos looked worried. "They may still want to know who we are. What if they decide to conscript us or something?"

"Then in a twist of supreme irony, you may yet find yourself fighting for d'Artagnan," Athos said with a glimmer of amusement. "Come on, we're wasting time worrying. Brazen it out."

With that he brushed down his dusty coat, ran his fingers through his tangled hair, and marched out into full view. Porthos followed him hastily, muttering under his breath. He caught him up and together they walked down the path, nerves stretched taut but outwardly unconcerned.

As they passed a bored looking man on sentry duty, Porthos nearly had a heart attack when Athos took it into his head to stop and speak to him.

"Good morning! How goes it?"

The sentry nodded, straightening up instinctively at Athos' tone of lazy command.

"Be glad to get going again sir, to be honest. We're just waiting for Captain d'Artagnan's lot to catch us up."

Athos inclined his head politely, thinking it was information well worth having that d'Artagnan was in the vicinity, although at least behind them.

"And you sir, where are you headed?" Taking in Athos and Porthos' rather dirty and crumpled appearance, and the fact they were on foot with a certain curiosity.

"To the coast," Athos said easily. "Information from Captain d'Herblay, to be delivered in person. Can't say any more, I'm sure you understand."

"Sir." Frowning, the sentry opened his mouth to enquire further, then closed it again when Athos made a gold coin appear in front of him. 

"Confidential business," Athos murmured. "Won't go down too well with the lot at the top if we're seen to be too conspicuous you see."

"I do sir," he replied, making the coin disappear about his person and nodding briskly. 

"Thank you." Athos nodded back, and moved on. "Good morning to you."

Porthos followed him, glowering, as they rounded a curve in the road and moved out of sight. There were still tents beside them, the camp stretching a great distance, and he kept his voice down as he prodded Athos in the side.

"Do you think he bought that load of bollocks?"

"Probably not, but the coin'll keep him quiet, or he'll be done for taking bribes," Athos said carelessly. Porthos growled in frustration. 

"You think this is a game, don't you?" he hissed, remembering a little belatedly that Athos was someone who'd made a living out of armed robbery for the thrill of it rather than any desperate need for the money.

"I thought you liked playing for high stakes?" Athos retorted, lips twitching into something that might have been a smile.

In the next moment he'd stopped dead in his tracks, so suddenly that Porthos walked into him and swore. "Now what?"

Athos was staring at a group of horses corralled behind a roughly-constructed fence.

"That's my _horse_ ," he said indignantly, then frowned. " _Both_ of them. What the hell?"

Porthos looked. There was a big black horse nuzzling a bay at the centre of the pen, and they certainly looked familiar. "Maybe they got commandeered too," he suggested. "For the war."

Athos glared. "The hell with that." Before Porthos could stop him Athos had lifted his fingers to his mouth and given a piercing whistle. 

Beyond the fence, both horses pricked up their ears and lifted their heads, and Athos waved an arm to catch their attention, whistling again and making Porthos flinch. 

"You'll get us shot!" he yelped, as both horses took a soaring leap over the fence and trotted over to them.

"They'll have to catch us first." Athos gave him an exhilarated grin and swung himself up. "I hope you can ride bareback."

To the sound of confused shouting behind them, Athos and Porthos rode away from the camp as fast as they could. Thanks to the fact most of the camp were still sleeping and no one had actually seen what happened, any pursuit seemed to take a while to organise and after a few miles they risked slowing for a while to rest the horses.

"I can't believe you did that," Porthos said, shaking his head in a mixture of admiration, amusement and shock. 

Athos shrugged, looking mildly embarrassed. "I didn't really have time to think it over, to be honest." He smiled. "Besides, if Celine can insist on risking our lives for her cat, I can for my horses, right? At least they're useful."

Porthos laughed. "I'm going to buy a dog in that case," he declared. "Or maybe a monkey. I've always fancied having a monkey."

"When have _you_ ever seen a monkey?" Athos asked, amused.

"There was a bloke had one when I was a kid," Porthos told him, reminiscing. "He brought it back from sea with him. Used to steal everything not nailed down and shit everywhere mind."

Athos laughed out loud at that and Porthos beamed at him, buoyed up by the adrenaline rush of their escape, and the fact they were on friendly terms again. 

For the rest of the day they made good speed, finally making the port at dusk with no further impediments. They made straight for the dock, bustling with ships and traders recently arrived on the incoming tide and transferring loads to be sent back upriver.

Finding the barge turned out to be a relatively simple matter; finding Celine less so. The boat had docked an hour earlier, and the bargemaster merely shrugged in answer to Athos' increasingly frustrated questioning, only able to tell him that she had disembarked as soon as they arrived, and he hadn't seen her since.

"Will she have made for the ship?" Porthos wondered.

Athos looked around assessingly, hands on his hips. "She'd have had a lot of baggage to manage alone. Unless I miss my guess..." he tailed off, and leaving Porthos in charge of the two horses marched across the harbour and into the nearest tavern.

Sure enough, Celine was sitting at the bar, perched on a stack of bags and declaiming a bawdy drinking song to a trio of what appeared at first glance to be cut-throat pirates. A second glance suggested all three had been buying her drinks and Athos sighed. Celine was liable to be pissed off that he'd essentially run off and left her to begin with, and was likely to be even less impressed if he now evicted her from a well-entrenched drinking session. 

He made his way over cautiously, and was relieved when Celine gave him a delighted wave.

"Athos!" She nearly slid backwards off her seat, and the man on the end fielded her neatly with one arm and propped her up again, with a lack of surprise that suggested it wasn't the first time he'd done it.

All three of Celine's admirers looked Athos up and down with sharp eyes and wary nods of acknowledgement. 

"Celine." Keeping his hand well away from the pistol at his belt, and his tone level and polite. "My apologies for our tardiness. I see you've managed to keep yourself entertained."

Celine waved her tankard at him, narrowly missing showering the nearest sailor with slopped beer. "These fine gentlemen work aboard the _Mermaid's Kiss_ ," she explained. "They very kindly offered to help me with all my bags, in the distinct absence of those I _had_ thought might be on hand to render assistance." She slid sideways again, and this time the man on the opposite end returned her to an upright position.

All three of them were shooting hooded glances at Athos, and he wasn't sure if they resented his intrusion or were just worried he would blame them for Celine's current level of inebriation. It was an impressive level of incapacity for an hour's drinking and he suspected she had started far earlier in the day. 

He knew Celine drank most heavily when sad or depressed, and Athos felt a twinge of guilt that this might be his fault, that she'd been afraid he and Porthos would never come, and that she was alone in the world again.

"I'm sorry," he said softly. "I didn't want to leave you, but I believed it safest. I did promise I'd find you again."

Celine gave him an unreadable flash of dark eyes, that could have been anger, relief, sadness, amusement or a dizzying mixture of all of them.

"Will you let me escort you now?" Athos asked courteously. "Perhaps your friends will still be good enough to assist," he added, with a slight bow.

"You'll pay, obviously," said the biggest of the three, a man at least half a head taller than Porthos, with a gold tooth and scrolling blue tattoo lines around his forearms.

"Obviously." Athos reached out to take Celine's weight on one arm and picked up Mimi's basket with his free hand, suspecting none of the sailors would want to be seen dead carrying a girl's pet cat through the dock.

When they emerged from the tavern Porthos at first smiled in relief then stared in surprise at the picture they presented, Celine swaying like a reed in the curl of Athos' arm, and three burly sailors trailing them out with various pieces of their luggage.

"She does like to collect pets," he murmured to Athos, with a discreet jerk of his head towards the crewmen. Athos stifled a smile, and swapped possession of Celine for the reins of the two horses, letting Porthos sweep her up into his arms.

"Put me down!" 

"A lady should be carried," Porthos told her, grinning. "Especially when she's too sozzled to walk."

"Am not."

"Drop you in the harbour shall I, sober you up?" He swung her towards the sea wall and she shrieked and clutched at him in alarm, before punching him on the shoulder when she realised he was faking.

"Isn't it bad luck to take a woman on board ship?" he called to Athos.

"Only for those that tell her to her face," Athos replied, then ducked as Celine slapped at his hat.

The three sailors seemed thoroughly entertained by all this, and with their now good-natured help it became a simple matter to find the ship and load all their goods on board. Athos concluded negotiations with the captain, securing their passage and also for that of the horses, before rejoining Porthos and Celine on a bench on the dockside.

"When do we leave?" Porthos asked, itchy to be off.

"Not until first light." Athos settled on the other side of the increasingly sleepy Celine and put a protective arm round her. "They've got a lot still to load, and will go out with the next tide."

"We're safe now though, aren't we?" Celine murmured. 

Athos and Porthos exchanged a glance, wondering whether to tell her about the imminent arrival of d'Artagnan and a literal army of troops and deciding against it.

"Yeah," Porthos said quietly. "Home and dry. Well, home and wet, I suppose," he amended, looking out over the dark sea. He frowned. "Never been on a boat before. Hope I don't get seasick."

"That _would_ be unfortunate," Athos agreed. "Especially as we're all sharing such a small cabin." 

They smiled at each other over Celine's sleepily nodding head, wondering whether they dared relax yet, if this really meant they'd made it. Neither would be entirely comfortable until they were safely out of reach of shore, but both felt they were surely due some good luck. They settled back to watch the activity on the ship, and wait until it was time to board.

\--

The eastern sky was awash with pink and gold as the final cargo and passengers were loaded on board the _Mermaid's Kiss_. Celine was curled up on the bench, fast asleep beneath a blanket and Athos woke her gently.

"Time to go," he smiled. 

Porthos though, was staring further down the wharf at where a commotion had broken out at the gangway to another ship. He stopped a dockside labourer hurrying past and nodded at the crowd. "What's going on?"

"Soldiers," the man sneered. "Damn nuisance. Looking for some fugitives, insisting on searching the ships ready to leave. Going to make some of them miss the tide, I'll bet, then there'll be trouble." He spat into the water to show what he thought of interfering landsmen, and pushed on past.

The three of them stared at each other. With the order given not to set sail until they'd been inspected, there seemed little hope of slipping through the net.

"What's going on?" Celine asked plaintively. "How have they followed us here?"

Athos and Porthos exchanged a guilty look, suspecting it was their own act of horse-thievery that had drawn the search in this direction.

"It's d'Artagnan," was all Athos said. "He's a persistent little bastard." He could see him in fact, way down the harbour, inspecting what was presumably a passenger manifest of one of the boats destined for Spain.

Athos swallowed, his throat dry. He'd brought this on them by reclaiming his horse, and it was up to him to get them out of it. He made up his mind, and turned to the others.

"Get on board," he said tersely. 

"Athos?" Porthos looked at him suspiciously. "What are you planning?"

"I'm going to lead them off," Athos said. "It's the only way. If d'Artagnan sees me he'll call off the search of the ships, he'll assume we're together."

"No!" 

"Yes. Now get on board and stay on board. Look after Celine. I'll follow you out by another ship if I can - _when_ I can." 

Ignoring their protests, Athos briefly took Porthos' hand. "I love you," he whispered, then turned and ran along the harbour towards the soldiers.

"Do something!" Celine cried, turning to Porthos in distress. For a second it was as if he'd been turned to stone, staring after Athos with a look of utter desolation. Then he shook himself and took Celine's arm.

"Get on board."

"What?"

"Do as he says. Or he's doing it for nothing." Porthos hurried her up the gangplank, face grim and set.

"You can't leave him!" Celine pleaded, hanging over the rail to track Athos' progress through the jostling crowd.

"I'm not leaving him," Porthos said quietly. "He's saving us." And refused to utter another word, too afraid that his voice would crack and he'd be unable to hold back the tears pricking at his eyes.

\--

Athos made his way along the harbour, purposely breaking out into full view of the soldiers, pausing as if in horror just long enough for d’Artagnan to see him, then turning and running up a side street.

The sound of pursuit was soon at his heels and he began the dangerous game of keeping just far enough ahead to be out of pistol range without actually losing them. Athos needed to keep them with him for as long as possible, determined to give the _Kiss_ time to sail. 

He dodged through the town for almost half an hour before the unexpected appearance of a group of soldiers ahead of him drove him off at an angle. Realising d'Artagnan must have anticipated his route and sent some of his men ahead to cut him off, he found himself heading out of town and up the cliff path.

The going was initially steep and by the time it levelled out Athos was gasping for breath, his chest burning and legs feeling like lead. This vantage point did have one consolation though - from up here he could see that the _Kiss_ had left harbour, and was making its way down the coast.

He paused for a second, heaving in air and pressing down on the stitch in his side. Fancying that he could make out Porthos and Celine at the rail, praying that they'd done as he asked and stayed on board. 

He had no idea how he was going to raise enough money to buy passage on another ship, or how he would find them again once he got out there, but those were problems for another day. Right now, he had to stay alive. Casting a look over his shoulder at where uniforms were appearing over the brow of the hill, Athos groaned and started running again.

On board ship, two pairs of eyes were fixed on the tiny figure with a nervous agony. The pack of pursuing soldiers pretty much confirmed it was Athos, and Porthos and Celine watched in rising horror as from this angle they could see what Athos couldn't - that in front of him on the path, coming towards the town, was another detachment of soldiers.

Whether by design or simply an unfortunate coincidence of timing, there was nowhere left for Athos to run. 

The inevitable clash happened on a stretch of path where the cliff wall rose up sheer above Athos' head, leaving no scope for lateral retreat. Faced with an unexpected line of soldiers coming towards him Athos tried to turn back, but d'Artagnan and his men had caught up.

On the seaward side of the path a short promontory jutted out over the waves and Athos backed slowly out onto it. He glanced down at where the sea boiled angrily around the base of the cliffs and felt dizzy. This was it. End of the line.

"Athos." It was d'Artagnan, coming towards him slowly, pistol out and levelled at him. "Drop your gun."

Athos blinked at him, then did as he asked, tossing the pistol onto the tufted grass. He'd had no intention of using it anyway, not against a man he had once counted as a friend.

D'Artagnan picked it up and nodded cautiously to him, lowering his own gun a little.

"Why, Athos?" he asked, seemingly genuinely bewildered. "Why throw away everything you had like this? You had a good life. Why risk everything to free a condemned servant?"

Athos half-smiled, the strong sea breeze forcing tears from the corner of his eyes. "Love," he said simply.

"Love?" D'Artagnan looked startled. "Are you saying you did all this for a kitchen maid?" He frowned. "That doesn't make sense."

Athos shook his head. "No. Not Celine."

D'Artagnan looked even more startled as he worked out the only other option. "That's - " he broke off as something else occurred to him. "It was you all along wasn't it? The second highwayman? It was you."

"Yes." No point in denying it now. Athos looked down again, at the seething water below. Wondering distantly if this stand-off was visible to those on the boat, what they were thinking. 

"Then you - " d'Artagnan hesitated. "It was you that gave Constance back her wedding ring."

Athos looked back at him, surprised. He'd been expecting d'Artagnan to complain it had been him that had punched him. "Yes."

"Thank you."

Athos smiled bleakly. "Constance likes rubies, doesn't she?" he said suddenly.

"Well - yes, I expect so, what - ?"

Athos reached into his coat and drew out the necklace he'd secured in the lining. "Give her this, would you?"

D'Artagnan took it, looking wary. "If you think to bribe me - "

"No. You're an honourable man d'Artagnan, I know you can't be bought."

"Then why?"

"It's weighed me down long enough, that piece. And where I'm going, ballast is the last thing I need."

"Look, Athos," d'Artagnan sighed. "It's not a certainty that you'll hang, a good lawyer - " he broke off, because Athos was shaking his head.

"Not what I meant." Athos took a deep breath. "Goodbye d'Artagnan. It was an honour to serve with you, however briefly." With that, he turned and took a running leap off the side of the cliff.

On the ship, Celine screamed, flinching away in horror to bury her face in Porthos' chest. He put his arms around her automatically, unable to tear his numb gaze away from the distant falling figure until it disappeared into the water far below.

"Athos!" D'Artagnan dashed to the edge to look down, afraid of seeing his broken body sprawled across the rocks - but by some miracle Athos had cleared them, and sunk out of sight into the blue sea.

For a long, tense moment d'Artagnan stared at the patch of water where Athos had disappeared. Then a dark head emerged above the waves, and a pale hand struck out in a confident stroke and he remembered how to breathe again. 

In watching, it soon became apparent that Athos was not making for the relative safety of the rocks but was heading further out to sea and d'Artagnan looked up in surprise, taking in for the first time the big ship making way off the coast. In that moment he realised what Athos had done in leading him and his men away from the harbour, and who must be on board.

The ship was some way off, and there was no guarantee that Athos would even make it. D'Artagnan could speak to the local naval captain, have a faster ship pursue and overtake. All three could still be brought to justice.

"Sir?" D'Artagnan's lieutenant and the commander of the newly arrived detachment were looking to him for guidance. 

"Call off the search."

"What?" 

"He's dead. He didn't make it." D'Artagnan strode away from the cliff edge and the dark speck in the water, still struggling out towards the ship. "Come on, look lively, don't you know there's a war on? We've wasted quite enough time on these wastrels," d'Artagnan declared, ignoring the incredulous glances this drew given that the search had been at his insistence in the first place.

He marched his men back towards the town, fingers running reflectively over the cool rubies in his pocket. D'Artagnan might not approve of robbery or evading justice, and he might not understand why Athos would give up everything for a man - but he did understand love. He thought again of Athos' wild leap into space and wondered if their positions had been reversed, if he could have done the same, for Constance. He hoped so.

\--

"Tell me the worst." Celine dug her fingers into Porthos' cloak, unable to look round. "Is he dead?"

Porthos stared desperately at the rolling waves, scanning the surface of the sea in slowly fading hope. "I think he missed the rocks," he told her. "But I can't see - no, wait! There!"

He pointed out over the sea and Celine span round to follow the line of his finger, eventually picking out the speck bobbing between the waves.

Despite making a strong effort to reach the ship it was frighteningly clear to those on board Athos wasn't going to make it. More sails were going up every minute they were out of port and the ship was cutting through the water far faster than Athos could swim.

Porthos and Celine dashed across the ship to locate the captain, stammering out what had happened and asking him to hove to and pick Athos up.

"Are you mad?" The man stared at them coldly. "If you think I'm risking my ship any closer to those rocks than this, you're insane."

"Then let down a boat!" Porthos begged. "Please, he'll drown."

"Not my concern. We're already behind schedule leaving, which if I understand correctly was probably your fault in the first place," he said acidly.

Celine scrabbled in her bag and held something up that glinted in the early morning sunshine. The diamond tiara.

"I'll give you this," she said. "If you save him. It's yours."

The captain hesitated, clearly taken by surprise. He took it from her, examining it closely. "A fine piece. But stolen, I'm guessing."

"No!" Celine lied. "It's mine. It was a gift." Technically true, anyway, even if she knew where it had come from. 

"Well - " he wavered, and Celine seized his arm, pleadingly.

"Please. You're a good man. A few minutes delay won't hurt. _Please_?"

"Oh - very well." The captain gave in, and then flushed when Celine kissed him on the cheek. He gave the order to lower a tender and Porthos and Celine watched anxiously as the boat was rowed swiftly back to where Athos was by now visibly struggling to keep his head above the large waves.

They clutched each other as Athos was hauled into the boat, and exchanged worried glances when he couldn't be seen to sit up, apparently just lying where he'd fallen.

The minutes before the boat arrived back were some of the longest of Porthos' life, and when Athos was finally helped aboard, clearly weak but able to stand, he thought his knees might give way in relief.

As Athos stood dripping on the deck, Porthos and Celine came over and he gave them a rather sheepish smile. 

"Hello again."

Porthos shook his head. "You mad bastard. What the fuck were you thinking?" He seized Athos by the arms and pulled him into a fierce embrace, startling a laugh out of him.

"I'll make you all wet," Athos protested, although he didn't push him away.

"I don't care." Porthos' voice was muffled and suspiciously shaky. "I'm never letting you go again."

Athos sagged against him, exhausted and overcome, and Porthos hugged him tightly before reaching out and folding Celine into a threeway embrace.

The ship bustled around them as progress got underway again, and for some minutes they stood at the rail, Athos wrapped in a large blanket, and watched the coastline recede behind them.

"We're really safe now, right?" said Celine after a while. 

"If you ignore the long and dangerous ocean crossing ahead of us and the need to start a new life in strange surroundings with little money and a criminal record, yes," said Athos.

Celine snorted. "Porthos can you slap him for me, I can't reach."

Porthos grinned. The bickering between Athos and Celine was a welcome return to normality, and for the first time in a long while, he finally felt like everything was going to be alright.

He put his arm around Athos and winked suggestively at him. "Wouldn't want you to catch cold after all this. What do you say we go below and I get you out of those wet things?"

\--


	7. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 12 months later - because you want to know what happened to them, right? Well, I did anyway.

_~ 12 months later, the island of Martinique ~_

Porthos walked slowly up the dusty path from the harbour towards the little stone house on the cliff. He was tired and the bag over his shoulder was heavy, but the sun was warm on his back and there were flowers cascading over the wooden fence and round the door. They'd been barely in bud when he'd left, and he paused a moment to take in the glory of them, smiling to himself. It was good to be home.

Letting himself into the house he could hear singing, and dropped his bag quietly by the door. From a cushion under the window Mimi raised her head and looked balefully at him and he raised a finger to his lips with a grin. The cat yawned widely and went back to sleep, unimpressed by his return.

Celine was sweeping the floor of her room at the back, her hair tied up in a colourful scarf, and was oblivious to Porthos' presence until he crept up behind her and put his hands over her eyes.

"Guess who?"

Her yelp of alarm turned into a cry of surprise, and she twisted round and threw her arms round him.

"Porthos! We weren't expecting you till tomorrow at the earliest!"

He laughed, picking her up and spinning her round in a fit of sudden glee. "We caught a favourable wind," he explained. "Got back sooner than we thought."

"It's good to see you." She hugged him, and Porthos kissed her on the cheek before looking round hopefully. 

"Is he around?"

"In bed," Celine laughed, and Porthos raised his eyebrows.

"In bed! At this hour? He's not ill is he?"

Celine shook her head. "No, he's just been working nights up at the fort. He's not been in long."

Porthos smirked. "Then I guess I'll just have to wake him up again." 

He mounted the twisting stairs to the upper room and lingered in the doorway for a moment, taking in the view. Athos had left the shutters open, and the whitewashed stone walls seemed to glow with reflected sunlight. Through the window Porthos could see nothing but the sparkling blue sea far below, and for a second it was as if he was still on board ship.

The room wasn't large but the sea air and light gave it a feeling of space. There was little furniture - a couple of oak chests for their clothes and bedding, a night-stand, and the bed, in which Athos was currently asleep.

He had his back to the door, a dark tousle of hair spilling across the pillow and one bare arm thrown across the patchwork coverlet. Celine had made it for them, sewing industriously by lamplight during the dark days of the storm season. It never really got cold here, not winter as they thought of it, but for a couple of months huge storms had torn across the island from one end to the other with a roaring ferocity the like of which they'd never seen.

Porthos stepped lightly into the room and closed the door behind him. He tiptoed across to the bed and climbed up behind Athos, settling along the line of his body and propping himself up on one elbow to look down at him.

For a minute or two Porthos just watched him sleep with a fond smile on his face. He'd been away almost a whole month, working on a merchant vessel that plied its trade up and down the chain of islands, and while it was enjoyable enough work, he missed being at home. 

The temptation to touch became too great and Porthos smoothed Athos' hair back, leaning over to press a kiss to the warm skin just below his ear. Athos murmured in his sleep and Porthos smiled, stroking his hair and kissing him again, on the cheek.

Athos' eyes fluttered open and he looked up into Porthos' smiling face with a sleepy befuddlement that gradually cleared into a soft joy.

"Porthos. You're home." He reached up and Porthos pulled him into his arms, holding Athos against him in a heartfelt embrace.

"Did you miss me?" Porthos murmured with a smile. Before Athos could answer Porthos had kissed him, licking into his mouth with long, slow swipes of his tongue. Athos wrapped his arms around Porthos' neck, returning the kiss with vigour and pulling Porthos down amongst the pillows. 

Wanting more skin contact, Porthos pulled his shirt off over his head and gathered Athos back into his arms. Athos was bare-chested, and Porthos wondered if he was completely naked under the covers. It was an appealing thought, and his already half-hard cock gave a lurch of interest. 

Athos was kissing his way down Porthos' arm, licking at his sun-warmed skin.

"You taste of the sea," he murmured sleepily, lips curving in a smile against Porthos' bicep.

"I've got something else salty for you if you want it," Porthos offered innocently and Athos gave a splutter of laughter.

"Then what are you waiting for?" Athos asked with a wicked look. "Are you coming in or not?"

Porthos quickly stripped the rest of his clothes off, fully hard now and not ashamed to show it. Athos gave him an appraising look as he pulled back the covers and Porthos discovered two things; that Athos was indeed already naked, and that he was as stiff as Porthos was.

"I have missed you," Athos whispered as Porthos joined him in the bed, pressing against him from head to toe, his hardness a firm pressure against Athos' belly.

"So I see," Porthos grinned, slipping a hand down between them and tugging gently at Athos' own erection. "How long did you manage to keep your hands off yourself?"

To his delight Athos blushed at the question, although he held Porthos' gaze with a defiant amusement.

"...a week," Athos confessed with a huff of laughter. "You?"

"Oh I've been a good boy I have," Porthos grinned, shifting position and sliding his cock between Athos' thighs. "Not one wank have I had these past four weeks."

Athos pouted. "I don't believe you."

"Seriously, I was bunking in a cabin with three other men, what was I supposed to do, stick it out a porthole?"

"Still don't believe you."

"You wait, ten minutes from now you'll be drowning in the amount of come I've got stored up for you."

"Ten minutes?" Athos smirked. "Is that all I get?"

"You'll be lucky to get ten seconds the way I'm feeling right now." Porthos kissed him again hungrily then moaned at the sudden friction as Athos closed his legs around him.

"Tell me the truth or else," Athos persisted, eyes sparkling. "How long?"

Porthos groaned. "Fine. Two days. Two fucking days. I hate not being with you." He rolled them over until Athos was on top, and smiled up at him, breathless and happy. "Fuck me," he begged softly. "I need you inside me."

Athos wriggled down in the bed until he was kneeling between Porthos' legs and took him into his mouth, sucking down over the swollen head of his cock with lazy enjoyment.

Porthos clenched his fingers in Athos' hair, gulping air frantically. "I wasn't kidding about being close," he managed hoarsely, when Athos threw him an amused glance.

Sucking a parting kiss to the side of his cock, Athos climbed off the bed to fetch the jar of oil from the nightstand. He took a showman's pleasure in slicking up his fingers, drawing them obscenely through the circle of his other hand and making Porthos bite his lip and push up his hips demandingly.

Athos gave a low laugh, rejoining him on the bed and setting to work, fucking him open with his hand until Porthos was flushed and shamelessly pleading. Athos moved to kneel over him, working more oil over his cock and teasing Porthos with the tip, barely inside him.

"For the love of God Athos, stop tormenting me," Porthos begged, throwing his head back in the pillows and trying to increase the pressure of Athos against him.

Athos smiled, finally taking pity on him and sliding carefully further in. Porthos ground out an animal moan from between gritted teeth, hands scrabbling in the bedding with the effort not to come there and then. He'd thought of nothing but this all the way back, and the anticipation almost proved to be his undoing. 

Athos shunted the rest of the way home, into what felt like the hot core of his being, and Porthos shuddered with pleasure. He reached up and Athos leaned forward to meet him, capturing his mouth in a biting kiss.

Porthos in turn captured his hands, holding them over his head in a vice-like grip. If Athos so much as touched his cock at this point it would be game over.

Instead, Athos fucked him slowly, the motion of his hips a rolling sinuous wave that felt to Porthos like the swell of the sea that had carried him out and home again.

Lingering kisses and deep slow thrusts, the glow of the hot morning sun on bare skin mingling with the damper warmth of their bodies sliding together.

Porthos could finally hold on no longer and came with a drawn-out moan of blissful completion. Athos, freed from the constraints of helping Porthos last as long as possible now sought his own release, moving faster and harder until he too came with an uninhibited cry of ecstasy, spilling into Porthos' still-spasming body.

Afterwards, they slept, covers thrown back and nestled into the curves of each other's body. 

When Athos woke later on, he found Porthos watching him again, and smiled.

"I was afraid I'd dreamt you," he said quietly.

Porthos laughed. "No, I'm really here." He kissed Athos thoroughly to prove his point.

"How long can you stay?" asked Athos, fingers toying idly with Porthos' earring.

"A week. Then the next trip's not so long, only two weeks this time, then I'm back again."

"Good." Athos wound his arms around Porthos' neck and pulled him in for another kiss. 

"Celine said you've been working nights?" Porthos asked sleepily, relishing this quiet time alone together after so long at sea.

"Mmn. I have some leave I'm owed though. Three days. I've been saving it for when you came home," Athos smiled. 

When they'd first arrived here, in need of work he'd enlisted as a soldier and begun working at the fort governing the island. He'd given his name as Athos d'Olivier, but no questions had been asked about his background, and he suspected more than one of his new comrades of running away from equally dubious pasts. 

Determined to keep his head down he'd signed up as what Porthos scathingly called cannon fodder - but his natural air of authority and obvious previous experience of military matters didn't escape the attention of his superiors, and despite his best efforts within six months he'd been made a lieutenant.

He'd tried to talk Porthos into signing up alongside him, but Porthos had fallen under the spell of the islands. Captivated by the sparking blue water, he roamed the surrounding seas for weeks at a time on any ship that would offer him work.

They missed each other when they were apart, but it made Porthos' homecomings all the sweeter.

Celine still kept house for the three of them, supplementing their income by taking in laundry and mending from the soldiers living full time at the fort. She also tended to the clothes of those women who served the fort in other ways, charging them little or nothing, knowing that if it hadn't been for a chance encounter and the kindness of Athos' heart, such a life might easily have been her lot. In return, the women provided her with an intelligence network to rival anything Athos or Porthos might glean from their respective spheres of influence.

They finally felt safe here, in their new lives. The pursuit they had feared for the first few months never materialised, and no mention of their names ever appeared in the news-sheets or the official correspondence that Athos occasionally had access to. 

"Three days eh?" Porthos gave Athos a lazy smile. "Would it be wicked to spend them entirely in bed?"

Athos rolled over and sprawled across Porthos' chest, looking down at him while Porthos stroked affectionate lines over his back. 

"I think," said Athos seriously, before breaking into a grin, "that you may finally have come up with a plan I that fully endorse." 

\--


End file.
